


OMG They Were Quarantined

by lordofbullshit



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AP Physics, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Carry On Quarantine, Coronavirus, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious Simon Snow, Omg they were quarantined, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Quarantine, Roommates, Set in America, Slow Burn, a little fluff and a little angst, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofbullshit/pseuds/lordofbullshit
Summary: "An entire month trapped in the dorms. It honestly wouldn’t be all that bad, except that it’s an entire month trapped in the dormswith Baz."The quarantine fic no one asked for!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 68
Kudos: 391





	1. This is going to be a long month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope everyone is surviving okay in this strange timeline we have found ourselves in. This is my first AO3 fic, so I will probably mess up the formatting somewhere along the way. Enjoy!

## Simon

An entire month trapped in the dorms. It honestly wouldn’t be all that bad, except that it’s an entire month trapped in the dorms _with Baz_. I’m pretty much banking on getting sick since then I wouldn’t have to live with him.

He’ll probably murder me before the end of the month. I’ll do something to piss him off, like breathing too loud, and then he’ll shove me in the closet and choke me to death. He’d probably look bored and posh while doing it, too.

He looks rather bored and posh right now. He’s sitting on his bed, a book propped up on his long legs. He has his glasses on that probably cost more than anything I own. They make him look like some kind of genius secret agent. I always want to ask him if I can try them on but I think that would lead to him locking me out of the room for the rest of the month.

The school has been on near total lockdown since the county issued a shelter in place order. Some kids went home to their parents, but my foster mom, Ebb, is a freshman Bio teacher and lives on campus, so I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. I guess I could have stayed with her, but for some reason it seemed better to stay in my dorm. Baz never said why he didn’t go to his family home. Their mansion’s probably big enough that you could go for the whole month and not see the rest of the family. But instead I’m stuck here with him in this room. At least they kept the kitchens open for our dorm and we can still go outside to walk around campus, so I’m not completely isolated.

The worst thing is that Penny went home to her family. I tried to talk her into letting me go with them, but she said her mom didn’t want to have to deal with that many people in the house. I get it, she has a lot of siblings, but that didn’t mean I was pleased. My second strategy was to talk her into staying at school, but she shot that down and assured me that I would survive without her. I’m still not so sure I will.

Baz sighs dramatically and bookmarks his book with a flourish. He’s such and ass, always doing everything with an air of _I’m better than you and you know it_.

“Is there nothing productive for you to be doing, Snow, or is staring blankly at the floor the extent of your mental capabilities?”

I give him my best glare as he gets up and walks over to where he keeps his snacks. He snags a bag of salt and vinegar chips and returns to his book. I hate how refined he looks even when eating a bag of chips. Such an ass.

I let out a huff and fall back on my bed. This is going to be a _very_ long month if we insult and annoy each other at every turn. We’ve fought ever since the beginning of freshman year when we were assigned as roomies, but I can’t remember what started it. He probably thought I looked too poor and stupid for someone like him to even talk to. The thing is, I don’t think I actually hate him. I think we would get along pretty well if we met in different contexts. He has a good sense of humor, even if he hides it under layers of snark and sarcastic remarks, and I can’t be _that_ bad. Everyone else seems to like me, even if Baz can’t stand me. Penny says that we need couples counselling. I say that she isn’t taking my struggles seriously.

I pull out my computer and open up my AP Physics syllabus. We were supposed to have a lab this week but that’s not going to happen anymore. I was actually looking forward to it. Now we’ll have some online simulation to write a report on. Physics is the one class where things actually make sense to me. In English, the words all get jumbled in my head and I can never write things the way I want to. History isn’t much better. The things we learn are interesting, but all of the discussions in class always give me a headache.

Baz is in my history class, which doesn’t exactly help my enjoyment of it. He always carries the class in discussions and the teacher absolutely adores him. I hate it, the way he so effortlessly logics his way through things and makes everyone else feel stupid for even trying. And now I’ll be stuck with him for a month. I will truly be amazed if we both survive this unharmed.

I turn my head to the side to look at him. He’s absolutely engrossed in his book, his long dark hair falling into his face. His hair is like a girl’s, all shiny and nice. I wonder how he does that. I bet girls love his hair. They probably ask him if they can braid it. Girls love him. He’s the star soccer player, one of the best students, and even I can admit that he is rather good looking. He hasn’t had a girlfriend, though, as far as I’ve seen. We aren’t exactly close, far from it, but I think I would have noticed if he were going out with someone. I only ever see him with his soccer teammates.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, his eyes never leaving the page in front of him. I feel my face flush and I quickly look away.

“Why are you even here?” I say to the ceiling. I can hear him put his book down.

“I didn’t feel like going home.” That answered absolutely nothing.

“I would think you’d rather spend the month in your castle than be holed up in a shitty dorm with me.” I can hear him shift when I say that and I wonder what part of that made him uncomfortable.

“Well, you wouldn’t understand the difficulties of navigating family dynamics, so I can’t expect you to understand my reasons.” His tone is even, but I can tell he knows exactly what he is doing by saying that.

I bolt up in my bed.

“Shut the fuck up!” I growl, leaping off my bed and pushing him down. He somehow maintains a smirk on his face even as his eyes widen in surprise. “Why do you always have to go for the lowest blow?”

“I’m merely stating the facts, Snow.” He doesn’t even give me the satisfaction of pushing back. He simply lays there as I push into his shoulders. Somehow that only makes me even angrier.

“Fight back!” I shout at him, but he just sits there. I give him one final shove before rolling off of him with a grunt.

I feel exhausted. I always do after I get mad at him, even if our fight doesn’t last very long. He’s exhausting. He is still laying on his back, the book strewn on the floor. It feels strange when he doesn’t retaliate. It makes the fighting feel empty, like we’re going through the motions only for tradition’s sake. I wonder if that’s all it is at this point. Do we argue just because it’s what we do? I plop myself back on my bed and turn towards him.

“Why do we have to fight?” I mutter, half hoping he isn’t listening. He glances at me and I see one eyebrow quirk up.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“We keep fighting with each other over the stupidest things and I don’t know why we can’t just tolerate each other like normal roommates.” He looks over at me but doesn’t make any comment. “If we are going to survive this month we need to be able to live here without ripping at each other’s throats.”

“And what magical mend are you proposing, Snow?” He finally rolls over to fully look at me. Talking to him while he is stretched out on his bed, staring into my eyes, is somehow so much stranger than when we are shouting at each other.

“A truce.” I offer. “I’ll stay out of your way, and you won’t be an asshole to me. Just be a reasonable fucking human being, it’s all I ask of you.” He gives me a bored look.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I’m tired of fighting, is why. It’s pointless and it doesn’t help anyone that we can’t get along. I’m not asking to be your best friend, I’m just suggesting that we try not to piss the other person off constantly!” How can this be so difficult for him to understand?

“Okay,” he mutters finally, before picking up his book and going back to reading.

Well, I don’t know what I expected from this agreement, if I thought we would all of a sudden start having a bonding moment, but at least this gives me hope of a slightly more peaceful month ahead of me. I can't stop the smile that washes over my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any suggestions/comments/emotions related or unrelated to this, please let me know in the comments. I don't quite know exactly what the schedule for the next chapters is going to be, but now that I have a good deal more free time on my hands it will probably be bi-weekly or at least weekly. Thanks for reading!


	2. Too Close for Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pining, post war America, and a hungry Simon.

#### Baz

I’m not quite sure what I have agreed to. I’m also not quite sure why I agreed to it in the first place. The smile on Snow’s face alone was enough to make me regret my decision. It should be illegal for someone to be so endearing. I’m thoroughly, absolutely, positively fucked.

When we were first told about the quarantine, I was looking forward to getting a month away from Snow to try and… work out my feelings for him. Unfortunately, a rather inopportune disagreement with my father made it seem like a better idea to stay at school, even if it meant subjecting myself to the constant, golden retriever like presence that is Simon Snow.

It is beyond me as to why he would suddenly put an end to our lovely routine of bickering. I am aware that may be cruel to him at times, but he has been perfectly happy to retaliate in the past. Not five minutes ago he had me pinned to my bed, an activity I would have thoroughly enjoyed in a different context. His desire for a cease fire just seems… strange. Snow’s motives aside, the world clearly does not want me to survive to the end of junior year.

I bury my face in my book and try to ignore the way the light filtering through the window makes his hair absolutely golden, or how I can see the muscles in his shoulders flex as he types on his computer. I truly am hopeless. I try harder to absorb my thoughts with reading, only to find that I have no idea what the last ten pages contained. Blame it on my unfairly attractive roommate.

We’ve been reading _The Great Gatsby_ in English and, while I do fully believe that Nick is gay for Gatsby and I appreciate the vast quantity of queer subtext and elevator lever inuendos, the writing itself isn’t to my taste. On top of that, my teacher is obsessed with the symbolism of the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg and most of our class time is spent analyzing those passages for themes. All I have to do is spout some eloquent nonsense on how the eyes are judging the failed morality of high society and the teacher gives me an A and commends me for my insight.

Physics is another matter entirely. I hate to admit it, but science is the one front where Snow may be close behind me. My brain excels with languages and logical arguments, and I can still get a pretty easy A in science by studying a lot, but Snow truly has natural talent for it. Don’t even get me started on him and biology. Seeing him take care of one of Ms. Petty’s baby goats was disgustingly adorable and I always disliked those goats for giving me one more reason to be attracted to him. 

That unit of Bio was the first of many times the two of us have ended up in detention together. It was a rainy day, and we were out in the goat pen, so the whole class tracked mud through the halls of the science building. Our class was on the second floor, so we had to go up the stairs. I don’t even remember quite how it happened, but one second I was reaching over to steal Snow’s textbook and the next he was slipping down the muddy stairs. He practically ran out screaming, telling everyone that I shoved him down the stairs. I never told anyone it was an accident, and I don’t think they would even believe me considering all of the fights Snow and I have gotten into.

For detention, the two of us had to sit down with Miss Possibelf and talk about what happened. She seemed to think she knew something that we didn’t, and she probably did, knowing her. She kept giving me knowing looks that I couldn’t decode. We ended up getting off with a warning and walked separately back to our dorm.

We have had a fair number of very similar detentions over the years. Most of them were things that Snow accused me of and I didn’t deny. He now goes around telling everyone that I am a sociopath who is one bad grade away from a murder spree and I have to say, during finals week, I sometimes feel like agreeing with him.

All of that makes this whole truce business seem completely out of the blue. Just yesterday he was yelling at me and threatening to impale me with his toothbrush. Not the most convincing of threats, but a threat nonetheless. Maybe it all traces back to his obsession with befriending every single person he meets, that I am the final boss on his journey to winning the hearts of the whole world. If only he knew...

I look back up at him and nearly stop breathing. He is biting his lower lip between his teeth and raking a hand through his curls. I want to reach out and smooth them with my own hand. I want to hold him and release all of the tension in his shoulders. Now _that_ is a dangerous line of thinking. I try to distract myself with Gatsby but I can practically hear him thinking.

“Careful Snow, wouldn’t want your skull to crack from the exertion,” I sneer. Truce or not, I can’t just be nice to him without raising suspicions.

His face starts to show his anger and I see a retort forming in his mind, but he just sighs and eyes his computer.

“Did you, uh, do the history reading?” He asks, still nibling on his lower lip. I blink at him. Of course I did the history reading, who does he think I am? Is this his way of asking for help? I realize I’ve been staring at him blankly and should probably say something before he thinks I’ve finally lost it.

“Yes, Snow, I did the reading.”

“Did you do the questions, too?” I roll my eyes.

“Yes. I did the questions, too.” 

Rather than actually asking me anything, he turns his computer towards me. I can’t quite read the text so I lean in closer. I am about to ask him to just pass it to me when he pats the bed next to him and looks at me expectantly. Well _fuck me_ if he thinks I’m going to actually sit on his bed, sharing his space. I’d rather light myself on fire and jump out the window. But he keeps looking at me like that and what can I say, I’m weak for those blue eyes. 

I hesitantly seat myself at the edge of his bed and take his computer. He has barely started on the questions and the answers he does have are rather lacking in completion. The reading was on cultural developments in the 1950s. The questions were fairly basic, asking about general changes in the lives of individuals after the end of WWII.

“What don’t you understand?” I ask him.

“Everything.” He groans and falls back on his bed. And he calls me dramatic.

“Did you even read the text?” He looks sheepishly away from me.

“I might have skimmed it, briefly.”

“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t know what we’re talking about? You’re hopeless, Snow.” 

I start to push his laptop back onto his lap, but he grabs my wrist and forces me to keep the computer where it is. I feel a shiver run through my body at his touch and I sincerely hope he didn’t notice.

“Can’t you just tell me the answers,” he whines. I scowl at him.

“That’s not how learning works. Plus, _academic integrity_.”

“Bullshit,” he huffs and leans over my shoulder to look at the screen. The physical proximity is doing terrible things to my ability to focus. I feel his breath on my neck as he mouths the words he reads. Once he seems to have finished with the section, I read the first question.

“How did growth in the economy cause a ‘baby boom?’” I read. He looks over the reading and then snorts and cracks a grin. I have no idea what is so funny about this, but I have a feeling he is about to tell me.

“People had more money and weren’t fighting in a war anymore so they fucked a lot.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him and he giggles. _Giggles_ , I tell you. I am a tortured man.

“And how do we say that in a slightly more nuanced, teacher-friendly way?” I ask.

He pulls the computer from my grasp and types out his response. I read over it and fix a couple grammar mistakes before we move on to the next section.

“How did the rise in the automobile industry change teenage culture?”

He scans the block of text, practically resting his chin on my shoulder in order to see the screen. I have no idea how or why he is suddenly okay with being near me, but all my years of pining have left me with very little self control when it comes to prolonged physical contact. That being said, I’m not about to stop him in case this is somehow part of the truce. From what I have seen of him and Penelope Bunce interacting, he is quite touchy with all of his friends. Still, this is a dangerous new development.

We work through the rest of the chapter, me asking questions and him typing the answers. It’s- well, it’s almost _pleasant_. By the time we finish, the light coming through the window has transitioned from the orange glow of late afternoon to the faint blue of dusk. Snow’s stomach issues a loud complaint and he gives me an awkward smile.

“Why don’t you go eat, you absolute nightmare,” I sneer, but with slightly less malice than usual. This truce ordeal is making me soft.

“What about you?” He asks, starting to pack up his computer and the various papers sprawled on the bed.

“I’ll eat later,” I say and move back to my side of the room.

He scowls and I can’t help but compare his current expression to that of a rather displeased puppy. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop looking like a ray of sunshine.

“We are literally the only two students left in this building,” he huffs, “it would be ridiculous to keep ignoring each other during meals. Also, we have a truce.”

“I’m beginning to think I should have asked for the terms and conditions on that truce, maybe a written contract.”

“Either way, even you have to admit it’s silly to eat separately when the entire rest of our day is spent in the same room.”

It seems that I don’t have a good excuse at this point not to go. At this rate, I’ll be spilling my feelings to him by the end of the week. Maybe then he’ll kick me out and I at least won’t have to be around him for the whole month. I would have to deal with my father, though, so not really an improvement. A lovely case of “pick your poison,” I suppose.

“Fine, Snow, I’ll go now if it pleases you.”

“It does,” he says with a grin.

Nope, nope, big fucking nope. He is _not_ allowed to smile at me like that and say that I _please him_. I will not fall for my very straight, very not interested roommate. One meal, Basilton, you can survive one meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! My school work is far lighter than anticipated, so I will probably be updating more often than I originally thought. I hope everyone is surviving quarantine and staying as healthy as they can! Thanks for reading and see you soon.


	3. The Way to a Man's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking, proper hygiene, and the excitement of physics review problems

#### Simon

We walk down to the dining hall together, which I realize we haven’t done in our entire three years of rooming together. Normally, I meet up with Penny near the start of the dinner time and he comes in later with Dev and Niall. The only times we ever eat together are when I steal from his stash of chips in the room. Sometimes I do that just so he pays attention to me. I see why Penny says I can be needy.

We are in the largest dorms on campus, so we have our own dining hall rather than having to share with another building. Luckily for us, Cook Pritchard lives on the property and she said she would keep cooking for us even though the rest of her staff went home for the quarantine. I think it will also be nice to have someone besides Baz to interact with.

We walk past the rows of empty tables and push open the door to the kitchen. Cook Pritchard is at the large stainless steel sink, washing a variety of vegetables. When she hears us come through the door, she gives us both a warm smile.

“Hello, boys,” she calls, “What are you feeling like tonight, hmm? I was just whipping up some salad, but I don’t yet have my mind set on a main course.”

“I’m sure whatever you make will be lovely,” Baz tells her with a smile. I’ve never understood their relationship, but somehow Cook Pritchard absolutely _adores_ him. She clearly hasn’t been pushed down the stairs before.

“Maybe some pasta then,” she suggests, pulling out some pans.

We watch her move about, collecting ingredients, stirring and tasting. I don’t really know what to do with myself as we wait, and I don’t think Baz does either, as he seems to be torn between leaning an elbow against the doorframe versus crossing his arms.

“Care to lend a hand?” she hums. 

Baz and I share a look before heading to the sink to wash up. As he washes his hands, he starts humming something that I vaguely recognize. He has a nice voice. I’ve heard him singing to himself in the shower a few times when he thought I was out. I nudge him by the shoulder.

“Whatcha humming? It sounds familiar.”

“Phantom of the Opera,” he says, spreading the soap with his long, elegant fingers, “I learned it on violin for class once and was reminded of it when I saw someone posting about twenty second song clips.”

“Twenty seconds?”

“Yes, Snow. We are in the middle of a pandemic, if you didn’t notice, and some of us want to follow good hygiene recommendations.”

He flicks water in my face and I splutter. Two can play at that game. I wet my hands and flick water right back at him. He smirks and starts to fill his cupped hand with more water.

“ _Boys_ ,” Cook Pritchard hollers from across the kitchen, “I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but I actually meant for you to help me cook, not get the floor wet.”

We both slouch over to the other side of the room and she arms us with knives.

“Now, please cut the tomatoes and not each other,” she sighs, giving us a pointed look that makes me wonder exactly how little faith she has in us. I guess we don’t have the best track record, so fair enough.

Baz and I work silently next to each other. I can’t help but appreciate how his hair looks in the light of the kitchen. He’s got it pulled up in a bun and it’s such a deep, silky black. I kind of want to touch it, to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Is it weird that I want to touch his hair? Yeah, that’s probably a little strange, so I try to focus on my tomato.

I have always enjoyed cooking, especially the more mindless parts like chopping stuff. It’s almost meditative, just slicing away at something, not having to give it a lot of brainpower. It makes me feel like I have some control over my life, something I can actually do. That is, until Davy made cooking just another chore for me to do. I try not to dwell on that.

Baz seems to know his way around a kitchen, which mostly surprises me because I figured he had some sort of private chef at home. But, having lived with him for three years and therefore knowing his sleeping and eating schedule, maybe he grew proficient through midnight snacks.

It’s strange to think how well I know him without really knowing him at all. I know vaguely of his family. He has his father, a stepmother, and some quantity of siblings greater than two. I know his favorite kind of chips and the patterns of his breathing when he is asleep. I know how much he cares about soccer and his music, but I don’t know why he hates me. I also don’t know what could possibly have happened with his family that made him willing to spend the month with _me_. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to ask.

We finish our roles as sous chefs and let Cook Pritchard finish with the rest. She tosses everything together and loads up three plates with the steaming deliciousness. Baz winces at how much she gives him. For whatever reason, he rarely eats much in front of other people. At breakfast, he just drinks tea and maybe nibbles on some toast or something. At dinner, he eats like a spoonful of whatever is served and then takes the rest back to the room. I hope he’ll eat more now that it’s just the three of us. He’s so thin, I have no idea how he has the energy for soccer.

We eat in mostly silence, Cook Pritchard occasionally asking us how online classes are going. It’s nice, though, just sitting with Baz, not being at each other’s throats. I can tell he’s still hesitant to be near me, but at least he isn’t insulting me with every word that leaves his mouth.

After we finish eating, or rather after they finish watching me eat my second and third helpings, Baz and I help clean up before wishing Cook Pritchard a good night and heading back to the room. We walk together again and it’s just as unusual as the first time, but I think I could get used to this. I like being friends. Definitely better than fighting.

When we get back to the room, he starts getting ready for bed and I mess around on my laptop. It’s weird not being able to do anything or see anybody. Especially Penny. We usually would stay at dinner until they kicked us out, just chatting, but now she is hours away with her family and I’m stuck here with Baz.

I kind of miss my classes, too, which is a bit unexpected. I never really enjoyed the classes themselves, but I liked talking to my classmates and some of my teachers were quite nice. It’s just not the same watching videos of their lectures or talking to people over Discord, but I guess it’s what we have to do.

The school admins haven’t said yet what’s going to happen after spring break, if we’re going to go back to school or continue online for the rest of the semester. If the rest of the semester is online, I don’t know if I can stay here or not. And what will Baz do? He never did say exactly what happened with his family. Would he have to find somewhere else to stay?

I don’t have the answer to any of those questions, so I instead try to remember my assignments due tomorrow. We have a whole long list of review exercises for physics that we have to work through in the next two weeks, so that will probably occupy most of my time. Besides that, the rest of my classes are still scrambling to figure out how to transfer everything to an online format, so I don’t have much of a workload.

Baz eventually exits the bathroom, freshly showered and clad in pajamas and one of his soccer hoodies. He moves around the room, putting things away and organizing his schoolwork.

“Do you want to work on physics tomorrow?” I ask as he starts getting into his bed. “There’s a lot of review to get through.”

He stares at me for a while, clearly weighing the pros and cons of working with me. You would think I just asked him to give me his kidney. Am I really that hard to work with?

“I thought it would be better than working alone, you know… less boring,” I try again.

“Sure, Snow,” he says finally, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

He turns away from me to face the wall. I guess that’s the end of the conversation.

I lay back in my bed and try to fall asleep. For some reason, I feel excited about tomorrow. Maybe I just really enjoy physics. I mean, I do like physics, it’s interesting and all, but that doesn’t explain why I feel this weightlessness in my chest. Must be something I ate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! My workload is constantly changing right now as most of my classes are still struggling to adapt to being online, so I have no idea what the updates on this are going to be like. I will most likely have a new chapter by the weekend, but we'll see how that goes. Again, thank you so much for reading and stay healthy! :)


	4. Catch Me If You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom, rain, some friendly competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for your comments and kudos, you make me smile!  
> My rec league is cancelled so I may or may not be living vicariously through the boys :).

####  Baz

Two weeks into the quarantine, we’ve settled into a nice routine. Snow wakes up a couple hours before I do and heads to the kitchens to gorge himself on scones. Then he waits for me to get up and we walk down together. He goes for round two while I have my tea. Cook Pritchard watches it all with amusement. I should probably find his eating habits disgusting, but I don’t have it in me to dislike anything he does. His arteries, however, deserve a pay raise.

After food, we go online and see what assignments our teachers have posted. Most days, it’s just busy work that takes some time but no thinking. I was already ahead in most of my classes going into the quarantine, so I have a lot of free time at my disposal. I will admit I spend most of it staring wistfully out of the window, but who can blame me when I’m stuck in a dorm with the boy I’ve loved since freshman year?

If anything, these last two weeks have only deepened my feelings for him. At least when normal classes were in session I could fill my schedule with things that kept me out of the room. Now, we spend pretty much every minute of our day together and it’s absolutely torturous. Between working on physics, going for walks around campus, and dragging me to meals with him, I would think he would be sick of me by now, but here we are.

Today started like every other day. I woke up, Snow dragged me to the kitchens and force-fed me toast, then we started classwork for the day. He seemed less focused than usual, though, and he was tugging on his beautiful curls so hard I was worried he would pull them out. I had barely started on my calc review, but it was clear I would get nothing done with Snow sighing discontentedly every five minutes.

“I’m bored,” he had whined at me, “let’s go outside.”

And that is how I ended up being talked into going out in the freezing cold rain to play soccer with Snow. Granted, he didn’t actually have to do much to convince me beyond smiling, so I guess this one’s on me. I really need to learn how to say no to him if agreeing to what he says is going to lead to getting drenched and chilled to the bone. 

We wrap ourselves up in a few layers and throw on some shoes before heading out the door. Or rather, I put on more layers and Snow puts on a different t-shirt. It’s honestly rude how he can be so warm while I’m freezing my ass off. Homophobia I tell you.

When we get to the field, Snow kicks the ball and takes off after it, sending up a spray of water with every footfall. I dash after him, only now realizing I should have worn my cleats if I want to avoid slipping on the wet grass. At least if I go down I can take him down with me.

He dribbles towards the far sideline and tries to do a maradona, only to hit the ball with his heel and send it skittering away. Seizing the opportunity, I accelerate forward and steal it. I can barely see the goal post through the mist, but I race towards where it should be.

I feel truly alive like this, running with a ball at my feet, the wind and rain whipping against my face. This sport has been a constant in my life when everything else is falling apart, and I don’t know where I would be without it. Probably more depressed and less fit. 

There’s nothing that comes close to the satisfaction of dribbling around someone and watching the flounder to catch up with you, or setting up the perfect shot that sails over the keeper’s head into the top corner of the goal. It feels like magic.

I hear Snow splashing behind me and I put on an extra burst of speed, relishing in the power in my legs.

“No fair,” he yells from behind me, “you’re too tall, you asshole.”

I slow down a few strides outside the penalty box and take my shot. The ball flies through the air and strikes the back of the net with a pleasant _swish_.

He catches up to me and lets out a ragged breath, his hands resting on top of his head. He looks absolutely _delicious_ like this, skin flushed from exertion, wet shirt clinging to his chest. My mind is going places that should never see the light of day and I sincerely hope none of my thoughts are showing on my face as I’m aware that I may be rather obviously checking him out. Luckily for me, I can usually bank on him being completely oblivious to the world around him.

“Wanna just take some shots?” He asks.

“Sure, Snow, but I’m not liable for any injuries to your pride or your face.”

He grins and jogs off to get the ball. I guess that leaves me in goal first.

He sets up at the top of the penalty arc and squints at me in the goal. I line up with the center line and bounce on my toes, ready to leap for the ball if I need to. The wind at least is starting to lighten up, but the rain refuses to give us a break, meaning the ball will be slippery.

He takes a few steps back at diagonal before running up to the ball and swinging through. It clears the crossbar by a good few feet and lands in a deep puddle on the track that runs around the field.

He jogs over to retrieve it and places it again at the top of the arc. This shot goes about the same as the previous, soaring over the goal with considerable clearance. By the sound of the impact when foot meets ball, he’s making a good connection, and has plenty of power, it’s just his accuracy that needs a little work.

“You’re leaning back too much,” I comment as he sets up again. “You need to get your weight more over the ball when you shoot, or it’s going to keep going right over the goal.”

He nods and takes a breath, glancing from the ball to the goal. He starts his run and I can already tell he hasn’t changed a thing about his stance. When his foot connects, his body is already too far back and the ball follows the same trajectory as the last shots. He groans and kicks at the water on the ground.

“Show me how!” He growls.

I grab the ball from its place in a rather murky puddle and carry it over to him. He watches carefully as I place it on a tuft of grass and I try not to think about the intensity in his blue eyes as he watches my every move.

“It’s all in the lead up,” I explain. “If your plant foot is too far behind the ball, your weight will be back by the time your swing reaches it. Focus on where your foot is going to land and try and keep your body over the ball.”

I give him an example kick and the shot arcs smoothly into the back of the net.

“Now you try.”

His eyebrows crease in concentration as he stares at a spot on the ground a little bit to the left of the ball. He looks briefly up at the goal and then follows through with his shot. It soars through the air, slicing through the onslaught of rain, before colliding with the crossbar and bouncing right back to us. He looks at me sheepishly.

“Shut up.”

I raise my hands in defense.

“I said nothing.”

“Yeah, but your fucking eyebrow was judging me, so you might as well have.”

He glares at the ball at his feet and then at the goal as if they personally spited him. As if anything in this world would purposefully cause harm to Mr. Ray of Sunshine.

“I don’t like shooting,” he groans.

“Well, it is a large part of the sport. In fact, scoring is rather the point of it all,” I sneer.

“Oh, shut up. Can’t we just play keep away or something?”

“That implies that you think you have any chance of getting it away from me.”

“Then I’ll start with it!”

He punts the ball down the field and chases after it. I give him a bit of a head start before following, just to make it more exciting.

By the time he catches up to the ball, I’m at his heels and he shields the ball with his body. I try and run around to the other side but he shoulders me out of the way. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy feeling the strength in his broad shoulders as he pushes me out of the way and dribbles past me.

He speeds down the field, but I quickly overtake him again and sweep the ball away. In only a few strides I put distance between us and he growls as he starts to struggle to keep up. I let him get closer, only to pull it back at the last second and take off in a new direction.

Getting frustrated at last, he knocks into me right as I’m spinning away from him. I think he must misjudge his own strength because I fall to the ground, landing on my back. Before I can even get up, his momentum carries him forward and he trips over my feet, landing with his knees on either side of my hips and forearms framing my head.

We just stare at each other for a few seconds, mud soaking into my pants and a torrent of rain drenching us from above. His eyes, usually a boring blue, are absolutely electric against the dark grey sky. But his eyes aren’t looking into mine.

He seems to be staring at my mouth, his face less than a foot away from mine. He hasn’t made any move to get up yet, and I’m not complaining--just confused. I want to kiss him. I would barely need to lift my head and it would happen, but that would never end well. I don’t want to ruin this careful friendship we have. Is that what this is, friendship? I always ruled out the possibility of being friends with Snow. Friendship would run the hazard of revealing my true feelings to him, and I never want that to happen. Maybe if I’m on death’s door, I’ll go to him and, with my last breath, profess my love. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath.

He is still looking at my mouth, and he has his lower lip tugged between his teeth. _Hold yourself together, Basil_. What I wouldn’t give to know what was going through his mind.

As if suddenly aware of himself, his face goes red and he jumps up away from me. It takes me a second to process what just happened before I can even think of getting up.

* * *

By the time we get back to the room we might as well have jumped in the swimming pool. My hair and clothes are plastered to my skin and I can barely remember what it was like to be warm. I peel off my jacket, hanging it up in the shower to drip. When I turn around, Snow has taken off his shirt and is rooting through his drawer to find a dry replacement.

I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times thanks to his habit of sleeping without one, but rarely in the full light of day. Or, partial light of day thanks to the clouds. Either way, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting over the freckles littered across his skin, and notice how when he moves his arms to examine the contents of the drawer, the muscles in his shoulders ripple under the skin.

He’s not hugely muscular, but let’s just say that spending his afternoons helping Ms. Petty with her goats has given him some definition.

He still hasn’t said much to me since he fell on top of me. I don’t think he’s even really looked at me--not that I can see, anyway. I can feel his eyes on me when I have my back to him, but he looks away as soon as I start to turn around.

Whether he acknowledges that something strange happened or not, I can’t get it out of my mind. I can still feel the weight of his body holding me down, his face right above me. His eyes, though, still perplex me. Why was he looking at me like that? If it were anyone else, I would say he looked like he was about to kiss me. All I know is that all of my fantasies of him on top of me now have an additional air of realism to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and see you soon!


	5. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confused realizations, wildflowers, and frogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been A Week, but here we are with another chapter of quarantine! The world is falling apart but at least we have gay fanfic to get us through these times, am I right.
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter and the next are a little angsty, and some trauma is mentioned/discussed. I promise we will return to regularly scheduled fluff after that :)

#### Simon

What the everloving _fuck_ was that? I mean- _what?_

I don’t even really know what happened. One moment I was chasing him to get the ball, then the next thing I knew I was on top of him. _Very_ on top of him. As in, pretty much pressed flush against him, on top of him. And it was surprisingly comfortable, considering how thin he is.

I never noticed until that moment just how grey his eyes are, a mesmerizing swirl of shades, like a storm brewing on the horizon. Look at me, waxing poetic. _What is going on?_

I don’t know what was going through my mind at the time (probably very little), but I think I wanted to kiss him, which is rather… strange. I mean- he’s not a girl. And he’s Baz. Normally I want to punch him.

Walking back to the room, it’s the first time in the last couple weeks that the silence between us has been anything but comfortable. There’s a definite tension, but maybe that’s just me feeling awkward. It’s not like Baz was thinking about kissing _me_.

I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to kiss another guy before. I had a girlfriend, Agatha, freshman and sophomore year, and I think I wanted to kiss her. Or maybe I just wanted her to kiss me, if that makes sense. I don’t remember ever having poetic thoughts about _her_ eyes.

When we get back to the room, Baz goes to hang up his clothes in the shower and I try to find something dry to put on. My shirt is sopping wet, so I pull it over my head and rifle through my drawer for another. I should probably do a better job of folding my clothes, because this is just ridiculous. It’s like I have one big mass of t-shirt, all knotted together.

I can feel Baz watching me. He’s just standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his hip resting on the frame. He somehow manages to look like a model even while soaking wet. I probably look like a drowned poodle, but people like dogs so maybe that’s okay.

He leaves his perch at the door when I put my shirt on and he starts to gather some dry clothes to change into. His entire back is completely wet and I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks. His back is wet because I literally pinned him to the ground. _Woops_.

We go through the rest of our usual daily routine after that, but there’s a significant lack of the typical banter. We kind of just stare at each other while pretending we don’t notice the other person is staring. It’s weird and I’m confused.

We work on our homework by ourselves. That part isn’t too strange, though, since we don’t share a lot of classes besides physics and history. I take all regular classes other than physics and he takes pretty much every advanced course he can like the smartass he is.

Dinner is equally quiet. Cook Pritchard chats away while stirring her soup, occasionally trying to bring us into the conversation but mostly leaving us to chop stuff up in silence. I scroll through my phone while we eat.

When we get back to the room, I brush my teeth and then go right to bed. This day has been exhausting. I wish Baz would just talk to me. I don’t know exactly how this looks from his perspective, but I think I’ve royally fucked something up. I mean, I didn’t _actually_ kiss him, so there’s no way he would know what I was thinking about. So why is he acting so strange? Maybe it’s me who’s acting strange. True, I haven’t made much of an effort to get him to talk, so it goes both ways, but he could at least _try_ to talk to me.

As with most things that I don’t understand, I think I’ll just ignore it and hope whatever is going on will resolve itself by tomorrow morning.

* * *

_I’m standing in a kitchen, morning light filtering through a window over the sink. The room itself is small, but the light colored cabinets and walls makes everything seem cozy rather than cramped. Something is cooking in the oven that smells absolutely_ heavenly

_A woman walks towards me from the next room. She has beautiful blonde curls that cascade down her shoulders. Blue eyes meet blue eyes and she smiles at me, her whole face alight with warmth._

_She plants a kiss on my forehead and leans down to open the oven. The tray she pulls out is full of sweet, buttery scones._

_“You have to wait for them to cool, love,” she coos, brushing my hand away with a gentle touch._

_I watch her move about the kitchen, putting ingredients away and washing dishes. Part of my brain knows this isn’t real, but the rest of me is content to be absorbed by the scene._

_She hands me a towel to dry the dishes and we work through the pile in the sink. Her hands are like mine, but far more graceful. She has my same short fingers, but on her they aren’t clumsy and stubby looking, just… nice. She smiles as she hands me a pot._

_“What are you thinking about, love? You have your pondering face on.”_

_“Just happy,” I say, in a voice higher and softer than my own. The voice of a child._

_We finish the washing up and she gets out a plate for the scones. They’re perfectly crumbly, filled with little bursts of cherry tartness. If I could eat one food for the rest of my existence, it would be this._

_There’s a little breakfast nook off of the kitchen. The window is lined with various potted plants, all growing in their own wild, free way. Kind of looks like my hair when I wake up._

_She follows me into the nook and slides into a chair next to me._

_“I was thinking we could go for a walk today,” she says as I stuff another scone in my mouth, “the hills will be pretty after all the rain, and there will be lots of frogs out near the creek.”_

_I nod and she squeezes the hand that isn’t covered in scone crumbs._

...

_We follow a narrow dirt path through the meadow behind the house. The tall grass is speckled with wildflowers of all shades of red, yellow, pink, and lavender._

_“Do you remember the names I taught you?” She asks as we walk._

_“Yes,” I say._

_“What about that one?”_

_“Larkspur.”_

_She hums in agreement and runs her fingers gently along a cluster of the light purple flowers. More flowers seem to pop up around us, ranging in color from deepest of blues to bright, vibrant oranges. She picks a white poppy and tucks it behind her ear._

_“Around here they stand for peace,” she whispers, handing me my own poppy, “but in other places they represent death. Such different meanings, all for one little flower.” She hums again and keeps walking._

_I follow behind her as we start to go up a hill. The tall grass sways at our feet, whispering in the wind. The air is thick with that calming scent of right after a storm, a world freshly cleaned and full of life._

_When we arrive at the top of the hill, the whole landscape opens up in front of us._

_“Look at it, my rosebud boy, such a beautiful world,” she sighs._

_The wildflowers go on as far as I can see, blending together in a dazzling palette of color, swaying gently in the breeze. There’s a few houses dotting the hills, and a road meandering through the valley, following the path of a small creek._

_We stand at the top of the hill for a while, her arm around my shoulders, just taking in the view. I lean into her side. She feels so warm, so alive. She smells of the flowers, the scones, and all the innocent things in life. She smells like home._

_“Why don’t we go catch some frogs,” she whispers, her breath softly rustling the hair on the top of my head._

_We follow the path down the hill into the valley. There’s more trees the closer we get to the creek, the leaves casting speckled shadows on the muddy ground. We navigate through puddles and slippery rocks until we reach a burbling stream. The water flows eagerly down the riverbed, well fed from all of the recent rainfall. We hop across a few dry stones to get to the other side and sit down on a rock._

_“The frogs like dark damp places,” she explains, “See if you can find somewhere nice and mossy. They like it there.”_

_She watches me as I hunt around, her face a picture of contentment._

_I overturn a large, mossy rock to find two little frogs hiding underneath. They spring away quickly and I chase after them. They stay just ahead of me as I run farther from the creek, my feet slipping in the muddy ground. Just as I get close enough to reach out and grab them, they hop away with a powerful leap._

_We weave through a maze of bushes and tree trunks before there’s a break in the woods for the road. The frogs pause in the middle of the pavement and I pounce, covering one of them with my hand. I feel it try and jump against my palm, but I have it firmly sealed._

_I carefully scoop it up and bring it up to eye level. Its skin is a light brown, with darker spots along its back and a stripe on either side of its face. It gazes at me blankly from two dark, beady eyes._

_I look around for its companion, but the other frog is gone. I grin at the one I still have. It’s so small, so fragile, it’s little feet pressed into my palm._

_I hear a noise approaching in the distance, but I stay focused on my tiny prisoner. It doesn’t try to get away anymore, seeming happy to just sit in my hand. I stroke its back with my thumb. The skin feels strange and squishy, but also pleasantly cool to the touch._

_“I found one!” I call out towards the river. I smile down at my new friend. It almost looks like it smiles back at me._

_I feel something touch my thigh and I look down to see the other frog._

_“Oh hello, little one,” I whisper, depositing the first frog on my leg next to the newcomer. They look happy to see each other._

_“Simon!” I hear her call from behind me._

_I turn and grin at her, pointing at my frogs, but when I look, her face is all wrong._

_Her eyes are wide in terror and her mouth is open, yelling, but I can’t understand her._

_She runs towards me and pulls me to my feet. The frogs leap away. She pushes me with sudden force and I fall, my back landing in the muddy ground on the side of the road._

_I look up just in time to see the car speed through the spot right where I had been sitting. Right where she is standing._

_I try to scream, but the scene fades out to black._

_I open my eyes and I’m back in the kitchen, but everything is different. There are no scones baking in the oven, no sunlight in the window, and no blue eyes crinkled with joy._

_Dirty dishes and takeout containers litter the counter, lit by a single hazy, yellow ceiling light. I stumble through the heavy silence of the house, finding a living room attached to the kitchen._

_A strong hand clutches my shoulder and spins me around._

_“You killed her!” Davy yells in my face._

_His breath reeks of alcohol and I try to shrug out of his grip, but he has too strong a hold._

_“She’s dead because of you!”_

_“NO,” I try to yell, but the words get stuck in my throat. It’s not my fault, I say in my head, It’s not my fault. It was an accident, it’s not my fault._

_He pushes me away and takes a swig from the nearly empty bottle clutched in his hand._

_“Get out.”_

_I don’t have to be told twice. I scramble out of the room and race down the dirt path behind the house. I run up the hill, passing the larkspur and the poppies. I run through the valley and cross the creek at the stepping stones. I run to the road._

_She lies on the pavement, and it almost looks like she could be sleeping. I cry out to her, but she doesn’t move._

_“Simon,” a different voice calls, sounding distant and distorted._

_I try and get closer to her body, but I can’t get past the bushes at the edge of the road._

_“Simon!” The voice calls again._

_If I could just get to her, just hold her in my arms, then she would hear me and she would wake up. She would call me her rosebud boy._

_“Simon!” The voice calls, and I am jolted into consciousness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please feel free to drop a kudo/comment! Stay safe out there :)


	6. I Won't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loss, cuddles, and confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your wonderful comments! They have really kept me motivated to work on this.
> 
> Some warning: this chapter contains discussion of death and mentions homophobia, so if either of those topics are difficult for you to read about, feel free to skip this chapter and wait for the next one. After this it should get a lot fluffier :)

#### Baz

Snow wakes up in a fury of flailing limbs. His eyes are ablaze with panic and I don’t think he knows where he is. The more he thrashes around in his bedding, the more tightly the sheets wrap around him. I try to calm him, but his mind is somewhere else. 

“Simon,” I repeat, “you’re okay now. It was just a dream.”

He sees me and slowly the panic transitions into recognition and he starts to breath again in heavy, ragged breaths. 

“That’s it, deep breaths.”

He does his best to follow my pace, his chest heaving with effort. My hands are still on his shoulders from my attempt to wake him, but he’s made no attempt to get away. Instead, he shifts in his bed and pulls me down to sit next to him.

“It was just a dream,” I whisper.

A lone tear rolls down his cheek, reflecting the pale moonlight from the window. I can hear his breath catch in his throat with every inhale.

He buries his head in my side and his shoulders shake in silent sobs.

It breaks my heart.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s over now.”

“I couldn’t reach her,” he chokes out, “I just wanted to get the frogs.”

He’s barely coherent, so I just hold him close to me and let him get it out. I know what it’s like, waking up from those. Your brain can’t tell what’s real and what was just a dream. And what was a just dream is often something that at one time was very real. I do wonder what happened, but I don’t want to push him.

We both have fairly frequent nightmares, but we never mention it. That may in part be due to the fact that we were incapable of decent conversation before a couple weeks ago. Still, we usually try to ignore the fact the other person wakes us up with their screams.

I woke up when he started muttering to himself. He was saying something about wildflowers, I think. When the muttering turned into him yelling and kicking, I couldn’t just sit there and watch. I had to do something.

His breathing is starting to even out and the shaking has lessened. He sniffs aggressively and adjusts his head on my lap.

“It was my mom,” he says, so quiet I wouldn’t be able to hear it if I wasn’t so close. “I was a little kid again, and we were going looking for frogs in the creek.”

He takes in a few slow, shaky breaths before he can continue.

“I- I found these two frogs, and went after them. There was a road, a car, and then-” he cuts off and his fist clenches in the fabric of my sweatpants.

He doesn’t continue, but I can piece together the rest.

“Oh, Simon…”

Tears start to fall again and I brush my fingers through his hair. He’s so good, so bright and full of life. He deserves the whole fucking world. He deserves to be happy.

We’re both so broken. All this time we fought and hated each other when really we’re the same. We match.

I wish I could show him what the rest of us see, the brilliant, cheerful boy, bringing a smile to everyone around him. He lights up a room. It’s no wonder he’s friends with pretty much our entire year. Even the teachers love him.

But now I know the darkness that lurks under that glowing skin. He hides it well, under layers and layers of goofy smiles, but it’s there. It’s always there.

We’re quiet for a long time, his head in my lap. I know this is just because he’s hurting, and I hate to think I may be taking advantage of this sudden want for affection, but at the same time I want to comfort him in any way I can. And if that requires cuddling on his bed, then so be it.

He sits up slightly and wraps his arms around my torso, pulling himself closer to me like a possessive child.

“Tell me about your family,” he whispers into my chest.

I take a moment to reply, trying to think of what exactly I should tell him.

“Well, I have four sibling,” I start, “all of them varying degrees of demonic.” He huffs a small laugh that motivates me to push on. “Then I have my stepmother, Daphne, who is quite lovely, and my father, who is… my father.”

He looks at me curiously before burrowing back into my chest.

“What about your mother?”

_What about my mother, indeed._

“She’s gone,” I say, because trying to put more words to it would never be enough.

“Oh.”

I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t. He’s mostly calm now. I wonder if I should go back to my own bed before this gets too awkward. Alas, I’m selfish and weak, so I don’t think I’ll go anywhere until he wants me to leave.

“How old were you?” He mutters into my shirt.

“Four.”

He nods but doesn’t ask any more questions. I keep talking, though, because for some reason it seems important that he knows.

“There was a fire.” I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It started in my nursery, and she ran in to save me. It- the fire department didn’t make it in time.”

He lays a hand on my arm and lifts his head to look me in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Baz.” 

His face is so sincere it stops my breath. All my life, people have said “ _I’m sorry, Baz_ ,” and “ _we understand this is difficult_ ,” but no one has truly understood what it’s like. No one has been able to look me in the eye and completely understand what it’s like to have someone be the most precious thing in your life, and then have them taken away in one terrible, impossible moment. But when I look into his eyes, his beautiful, moonlit eyes, I see my own pain looking back at me.

I don’t know how long we sit there, wrapped up in our thoughts. He still has his arms around me. I feel like I should leave, now that he’s not posing an imminent threat to either himself or his bedding, but I don’t think I can physically move right now. He holds onto me like I’m precious, something to be protected. My little gay heart can’t take this.

I want this to last forever. I want to stay here holding him for the rest of my life, until all of his broken pieces can be glued back together. For so long, I’ve dreamed of having him. I don’t want to let go.

It’s strange to think how far we’ve come in just a few weeks. For three years, we’ve punched, kicked, and growled our way through every interaction. And then we got quarantined together, and he suggested that fucking truce, and now… Well, I’m not sure what we are. Friends? Yes, I suppose we’re friends now.

“You never said exactly why you aren’t with your family for quarantine,” he says, nudging me in the stomach and breaking my train of thought.

“Didn’t I? Family difficulties.”

“Yeah, but what exactly does that mean?”

That’s quite the loaded question.

See, I made the brilliant decision to come out to my family when I was visiting for the weekend, just a little while before the quarantine announcement. It went… interestingly.

Daphne was supportive, as I always thought she would be. She hugged me and thanked me for telling her and then went on with her life, treating me exactly as she normally would. The children are barely old enough to really know much about being gay, but they were happy for me in their own way. Mordelia immediately pestered me about my boyfriend, even after I informed her that I did not have one. In general, though, it was a very positive experience.

My father was an entirely different story. I have always known that he would be the one to take it the worst. I’m supposed to be the model son who follows in his footsteps, settling down with a wife and kids and running the family business. Needless to say, he did not take it well when I said I prefer men.

He shut himself in his study for the rest of my visit. Daphne tried to soften the blow, explaining that he just needed time, but I don’t think either of us really believed that. When the weekend was up, I left without him even saying goodbye.

School was a great distraction and I managed to avoid having to talk to him when I called Daphne on the weekends, but then school ended and I was left with a decision: either stay at school or go home and face my father’s judgment and prejudice. I had a couple days to think about it—they announced the school closure three days before we were to be sent home—but I couldn’t really see any alternative to staying at Watford. I couldn’t stay with my father for months, knowing that he would never see me the same way again.

But I can’t tell Snow all of that. Even if he was fine with me being gay, it’s not like he would be able to understand. And I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, not when he finally tolerates being around me.

“Baz.”

I can’t lie to him, though, I simply can’t.

“You can tell me, Baz,” he says in the softest voice. Damn him and his kind eyes.

I just have to do it. Bite the bullet. 

“I’m gay.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but he also doesn’t look repulsed, so I guess that’s a win. I realize then just how close we are right now, with almost his entire upper body pressed to mine. I desperately hope he doesn’t read into it all too much. He might not like what he finds.

“What does that have to do with your family?” _God_ , he’s thick.

“Not everyone wants a gay son, Snow.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” I say, with probably more snark than necessary.

It’s not his fault that my father is shitty—it’s my father’s own fault he’s too bigoted to deal with me—but I can’t face Snow right now. My feelings are all leaking out and I have no idea what might reveal itself if I keep up this conversation.

I need to get away. He can’t know the depths of my feelings for him. Knowing of my attraction to men is one thing, but knowing of my attraction to _him_ would be an entirely different matter. I don’t want to face the disgust and rejection that would surely follow.

I can’t stay here, in his bed, in his arms. I start to extract myself from his grasp and get off the bed, but he only holds on tighter.

“No,” he says, clutching tightly to my t-shirt, “stay.”

I’m weak. We’ve established this.

I let him pull me down next to him, his arms still around me. I don’t know if I should be facing him, or if that would seem too intimate. I keep waiting for him to push me away, to turn me down, but it never comes.

We’re so close together, him practically pressed against my back. I can feel his body heat roll off of him in waves. No wonder he always wants the window open—he’s a human furnace.

He’s still very awake. I can practically feel his eyes on the back of my head and hear the gears turning in his mind. I got so caught up in my own confessions I nearly forgot what started this whole conversation. He was the one who was supposed to be receiving the comfort.

“You sure you’re going to be alright, Snow?” I whisper.

He sighs and I can hear the rustle of sheets behind me as he shifts his position.

“I will be.”

He sounds so lost. I know there is nothing I can say that would bring back his mother or save him from whatever evil he fights every night in his dreams, but I wish there was something I could do to just make him happy. I want to hold him and tell him how amazing he is, how he is so much more than the terrible things that have happened to him. Maybe I will have another chance to do that. I have already shown too much of my hand tonight.

Eventually, I hear his breath slow to the gentle cadence of sleep. I carefully move his arms off of me and wiggle out of his grasp. I go back to my own bed.

My sheets feel cold after being so close to Snow’s warmth. He really is a ray of sunshine.

I couldn’t stay. I know that if I woke up in his arms, I would never be able to leave. That, and I don’t want to be there when he wakes up and regrets what happened. Or wakes up and remembers the things I’ve said.

I can’t take it back now. _Sike, Snow, I’m actually straight and this was all an elaborate scheme._ He’s gullible enough I might be able to convince him, but I won’t. I can’t. Not when I’ve seen what it’s like to be close to him, to hold him in my arms, to talk to him until he falls asleep.

I’ve seen Snow without his mask, and he is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and feel free to drop a comment. Stay safe, stay healthy, and see you soon!


	7. Let's Get This Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexuality crisis 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments, I literally squeal when I read them!
> 
> Also, anyone else wishing they could be having a gayer quarantine? because same

#### Simon

It’s been almost a week since my nightmare, since all of the darkness inside me oozed out into the room and Baz held me and let me cry. And it’s been almost a week since I fell asleep in his arms, only to wake up to an empty bed.

I don’t know what it all means. I mean, I figure it’s not exactly just a friend thing to do? Just bros being bros? Can I even call Baz a bro? I think he’d be insulted.

It was nice though, being close to him, talking to him, even if we were crying while we were talking. Or at least, I was crying while I was talking—Baz was as stoic as ever.

How does he do that? He’s always so unreadable, even when he was practically spilling his heart out. I wish he would let me in, let me help him in some way.

That could be just a friendly thing, though, right? Friends want their friends to be happy, so they comfort each other in hard times. There’s no reason for me to read into this too much and feel rejected that he didn’t stay—he only wanted to calm me down enough so he could go back to sleep.

So why do I feel like I lost something when I woke up and he wasn’t there? I opened my eyes to empty sheets and an empty room. I’m not sure what I would have done if I woke up and we were still cuddling (was it cuddling?), but it would have been better than ignoring that it ever happened.

We haven’t talked about it. In fact, we haven’t really talked about anything—not my nightmare, not our mothers, not him being gay-

Fuck, I forgot about that. Well, I didn’t really forget—I can’t stop thinking about it—but I’ve been more focused on my own issues this past week, the main issue being my possible feelings for Baz.

I’ve come to the realization I may not be straight.

I’ve liked girls, though. Hell, I had a girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure I was attracted to her. That makes me straight, doesn’t it? Can I like both? I think that’s a thing, but I’m not exactly well-informed on the subject.

This all feels like a repeat of my post-soccer crisis, but now there’s even more confusion.

I wish some magic fairy would come down from above and be like _okay buddy here’s what’s going on with you_.

Or I can call Penny. That’s close enough.

I send her a facetime request and try to make the most obnoxious face I can for when she picks up.

“Hey Simon- well now _that’s_ attractive,” she laughs with a snort. I stick out my tongue at the screen. 

“Hiya Pen.”

She looks happy enough, considering the state of the world. Her hair is purple now, so that’s new—I guess we all deal with quarantine in different ways.

I miss talking to her, seeing her every day. I want to be able to run up to her at breakfast and give her a hug or steal her glasses or something. Everything has felt so empty without her.

“Sooooo how’s the apocalypse going?” She asks in a singsong voice.

“It’s definitely going,” I say, flopping down on my bed. Baz went on a run, so I have the room to myself.

“You must be dying, stuck in that room with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome,” she chuckles, “I’m honestly surprised to see you haven’t throttled each other.”

“No, uh, no murders yet,” I say lightly. ‘Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome’ happens to be an issue of entirely different sort at the moment.

“Hmm.” She looks at me quizzically, holding the phone closer to her face. I must have given something away with my _microexpressions_ or whatever the hell it is she always rants about. “You didn’t call me just to catch up, did you,” she asks with a raised eyebrow that could give Baz a run for his money.

“Well…” I don’t know where to start. Freshman year, when I first moved in? That time he got a haircut and I was obsessing about it for weeks afterwards? Playing soccer and nearly kissing him? _That night in my bed?_

“This has something to do with Baz, doesn’t it.”

“It might,” I mutter.

She ponders for a moment, her eyebrows scrunching behind her large-frame glasses.

“Is it a good something or a bad something?” She asks.

“That is to be determined.”

That response must help her to some conclusion because she smiles at me fondly. It reminds me of how my mother used to smile at me when I was being ridiculous.

“Oh, Simon,” she laughs softly.

What is she thinking? Did I do something? _Am I being ridiculous?_

Suddenly the door swings open and Baz sweeps into the room. He barely gives me a glance before going into the bathroom to shower. Penny bursts out laughing.

“ _What?_ ” I sigh.

“Nothing, nothing. Why don’t you go outside so you don’t bother him?”

I yell to Baz that I’m heading out before chauffeuring virtual-Penny outside. She still has that knowing smile on her face.

“So,” she starts, “tell me more about what you two have been doing these last few weeks.”

Now comes the tricky part of actually telling her what’s going on. Although, judging by the way she’s looking at me, I think she might already know.

“We’ve been getting on a lot better than usual-”

“Mhm.” She wiggles her eyebrows, which I choose to ignore.

“-but there’s been some… other stuff?”

“Other stuff?” Now her whole face is taking part in the suggestive eyebrow wiggling.

Best to get it over with, right? I just need to say it.

“I kind of tried to kiss him?” Her eyes widen at that. “Or, I didn’t actually _try_ , I just _wanted to_ , and then I had a nightmare and he comforted me—turns out he lost his mom too—and then he said he was gay, which only made me more confused, and then we kind of cuddled? Still not sure if it counted as cuddling, but anyways, when I woke up he was gone and we haven’t talked about any of it in the last week and I’ve been somewhat on the verge of crisis the entire time so, uh, yeah...”

She nods slowly, the ringlets of her hair bobbing with the motion. 

It feels good to get it all out in the open. The only person I really have contact with is Baz, and he is the source of all my current problems, so I guess I’ve been doing a far bit of bottling up. That’s what Penny’s good at—helping me take the cap off the bottle before the pressure gets too much and I explode.

I walk down the path outside our dorm. It hasn’t fully rained in a few days, but a heavy mist makes everything kind of damp. Penny’s hair would be super frizzy with the humidity if she were here.

It’s physically painful not knowing when I’ll be able to see her again. School has been officially moved online for the rest of the semester, so it will be at least until June, but who knows? I’m just glad I can still talk to her, hear her voice and see her face, even if it’s just through a phone. Thank God for technology, I guess. I would not have survived the pandemics of the previous centuries.

She isn’t looking at the screen anymore, instead working on something off camera, but I can tell she’s still paying attention, waiting for me to get my thoughts together.

Now that I’ve told her, or at least given the brief summary, I don’t know what else to say. I have so many questions that they’re all piling over each other in a giant, Baz-shaped lump of uncertainty.

“Hey Pen?” She looks up. I kick a pebble and it goes skittering into the grass. “What does this all mean?”

“Which part?” She’s giving me her full attention now, the project in her lap abandoned.

“I mean, well, Baz? I don’t know, but-” I sigh, “I think I might, you know, _like him_."

Her face breaks out into a soft grin that eventually turns into full on laughter. 

“I love you, Si, but you really are an idiot sometimes.”

“Wait, what? Did you know?” I ask.

This sends her into another fit of giggles.

“You literally,” she has to pause to wheeze for air, “followed him around all of sophomore year because you thought he was plotting-”

“He was!”

“I had to physically restrain you from following him into the shower!”

She has a point with that one…

“What I mean to say,” she continues, “is that I love and support you and want to be happy-”

“Aww,” I deadpan.

“-but now you have to decide what you’re going to do going forward, seeing as you have to live with him for at least another couple months or so.”

If I were back in the room, this would be the point in the conversation where I would dramatically flop down on my bed with a heavy sigh. But I’m not in my room, so I have to settle for kicking another pebble.

This would all be so much easier if I could know what Baz was thinking. What was in that posh brain of his when I fell on him in the grass? Or after my nightmare? And why did he leave?

I groan and sit down on the damp pavement.

“Hey, at least you’ve got a pretty good chance,” she says. “You’ve just got to actually talk to him.”

“What do you mean I’ve got a good chance? Just ‘cause he likes guys doesn’t mean he likes me.”

She starts laughing again and shakes her head. Maybe I should go into comedy if I’m this entertaining.

“You two are both _idiots_ ,” she huffs. “Do I have to do all the heavy lifting in your relationship?” I’m not sure what she’s talking about so I just stare at her through the screen. She shakes her head before continuing. “Simon, that boy has been in love with you pretty much since day one, of course you have a good chance with him.”

I’m not sure what to say. It can’t be true—I'm still pretty sure Baz hates me—but Penny’s normally right about things…

My confusion must show on my face because her expression softens.

“You should talk to him, Si.”

“I know,” I whisper, “I just don’t know how.”

Baz and I had been in such a good place before that night, before I let him get too close and ruined it. He saw me when I was broken and I let him try and pick up the pieces, but I guess it was too much for him. I was too much for him.

I know I need to talk to him. I _want_ to talk to him, but my words never come out the way I want them to. My brain tries to say something, but it gets stuck in my throat and twisted into something unrecognizable.

I grab a fistful of grass and sprinkle it onto my leg.

“What do I even say to him?” I ask. She hums and thinks for a moment.

“Honestly, Si, I don’t think the words you say will really matter. You just need to let him know that you’re interested and see how he responds. Don’t fret over the words.”

She’s right of course, it’s not like Baz expects sonnets from me—I barely even know what a sonnet is—but the idea of opening up to him is daunting to say the least. And what if he says no? What if he recoils in disgust? I mean, how could he possibly be interested in _me_?

“It’ll be alright,” Penny says, as if she can see into my brain and read all of my worries (which is entirely possible). “Just tell him how you feel, and if by some miracle I’m wrong and he doesn’t feel the same, I’m still a phone call away to talk.” She smiles at me fondly and I feel so loved. I’d truly be lost without her.

“Thanks Pen. What would I do without you?”

“Probably turn to a life of crime.” She laughs.

“Oh shut up.” I say, but I can’t help but smile and feel the tension inside me ease up a bit. I’m glad I called her—this has really helped.

“Now go get your _mans_ ,” she yells into the microphone of her headphones, so loud I instinctively rip my earbuds out. I glare at her and flip her off as I hit the red button to end the call. The screen freezes on her laughing, her eyes bright with humor.

Well, I guess it’s time to get my _mans_. Thanks, Pen.

I pick myself up off ground and start back towards our room. _Our_ room, as in the room _with Baz_. I’ve got myself into quite a mess, haven’t I?

I focus on the sound of my footsteps on the pavement, and try not to think about what is about to happen. I have to tell him—Penny’s right about that—I’m not the type who can just keep something like that hidden for years, but I have no way to predict how he’ll react. I don’t know if he feels the same or if he’ll be offended. I don’t even know if he still wants to be friends.

I do know one thing, though: I’m just a little bit in love with Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Going forward, I think I'll be posting a new chapter at least every weekend, with maybe a bonus one during the week if my online classes are kind to me, but we'll see. I hope you're all staying safe and healthy, and see you soon :)


	8. A New Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subpar communication, rushed confessions, and a lovely sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments, they make my day! This chapter stumped me for a while for a multitude of reasons, but I think I finally got it to where I wanted it. Enjoy!

#### Baz

I turn off the shower and let the water run in rivulets down my skin. It drips from my hair as I towel off and pull on my clothes.

The run was refreshing. It’s been a hell of a week, what with Snow not really talking to me, and I needed a release. Running clears my mind, nothing to worry about except the rhythm of my breathing and the cadence of my steps. It helps me think, gives me time for my mind to work things out. Like trying to figure out why Snow isn’t talking to me.

I haven’t decided which part of our conversation pushed him into this state. He doesn’t seem majorly homophobic, so I don’t believe that to be the issue. I let him in, though, when I told him about my mother, and maybe he didn’t want that. Or maybe he didn’t want me to see him in the state that he was. Either way, he’s barely talked to me since that night.

I comb out my hair and hang the towel up before opening the door to the room with a puff of steam. I find him sitting on his bed, pretending to read, clearly moving his eyes across the page without absorbing a word. The book in his hands is none other than _The Great Gatsby_.

“I believe that’s my copy, Snow,” I sneer.

He looks up at me with a thoughtful expression and just hands me the book. That’s odd. No stuttering retort? Or mumbled complaint? This is even less communication than we had when we were fighting.

I need to talk to him. This can’t go on like this— it’s not good for anyone. It would be one thing if this were a regular school year, but right now we have to spend every hour of the day together and it’s going to be intolerable if he keeps looking at me like I’m about to attack him. Maybe I will if he doesn’t start talking to me.

I slide _Gatsby_ into its place on the shelf and run my fingers down the well-worn spine. If I want to get Snow talking, I need to ease him in.

“How are your classes today?” I ask, hoping that’s a neutral enough subject to get him to start talking.

#### Simon

I had it all planned out. I knew exactly what I was going to say, what I would do depending on his reaction. I was ready to tell him.

And then he walked out of the shower looking like some kind of sexy vampire, with his wet hair slicked back to reveal his widow’s peak, and all my nicely organized thoughts went out the window. He’s got this one strand of hair that’s fallen away from the rest, curling slightly so that the end of it follows the curve of his cheekbone. I keep trying to focus on his words, but my eyes always find their way back to that strand.

I had it all planned out, but now I’m right back where I started before I called Penny—too many thoughts flying around in my brain and no way to contain them. 

I think he asked me a question. Something about classes? I was a little distracted by his hair so I wasn’t actually listening to what he was saying.

“Only a math lecture today,” I manage to get out. He nods as if I said something interesting and sits on his bed. He taps his fingers on his leg in a very un-Baz-like display of nerves.

What does he have to be nervous about? I’m the one who just had two sexuality crises in a single week and realized he might be in love with his roommate! Unless Baz somehow found out about that. Did he overhear me talking to Penny and is now nervous because he’s trying to figure out a way to let me down easy?

All of this thinking is exhausting. Before now, I would just run headfirst into all of my problems and things would usually work out well in the end. Sure, not everything would go exactly to plan—there was no plan—but my instincts have generally served me far better than my brain.

Maybe that’s the trick. Maybe it’s time to stop thinking and just _do._

#### Baz

He stands up and walks towards me. The wistful gloom that has resided in his expression for the last week is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a focused confidence. I can do nothing but stare as he advances towards me, his beautiful eyes studying my every move.

I don’t know what he’s doing, but my overactive mind is supplying many ideas, some good, some less so. What I wouldn’t give to be able to read minds.

He reaches towards me with a determined movement and my years of dodging his punches betrays me. 

I flinch.

His face falls as soon as he sees it. I watch as the confidence transforms into shock, then sadness, and then anger. He steps backward with a grunt. I am about to try and say something when I see his shoulders tense up like they do before we fight.

“Simon, please,” I try to calm him, but he silences me with a betrayed look. His hands reach up to shred his curls in frustration.

“We were getting along, Baz!” He growls, pacing in the space between our beds. “I thought you trusted me? I thought we were getting along!” He practically spits in my face and I’m left at a loss for words.

I didn’t mean to flinch. It’s just, after three years of using each other as punching bags, my brain assumes every sudden movement has violent intent. I can’t control a reflex.

“Listen, Snow,” I try to start, but he whips around and interrupts me before I can explain.

“No, you listen, Baz! I’m trying to fix this, and you’re still treating me like you always have!” His breath comes in angry puffs and his skin is flushed red. “I’m not your enemy!” With these last words he shoves me backwards by my shoulders.

As he pushes me back, I’m able to drag him down with me onto the bed. He lands with a huff on top of me. With little of the friendliness he so recently claimed, he holds me down. I hook one leg around him and roll us over so that I have him pinned down with my forearm across his chest.

“Then why are you acting like this?” I hiss, my face barely inches from his.

Being so close to him, I once again feel how warm he is. But this isn’t the soft, comforting warmth of when we held each other and healed our scars. This is hot, boiling anger, raw energy ready to be released. He’s a ticking bomb and I think I’m the trigger.

His blue eyes meet mine and I see the depth of the emotion hidden within them. The anger is there, but so is confusion, sadness, regret, and… something else. I think I’ve broken him.

“Because I love you, Baz,” he whispers.

Before I can do anything, before my mind can even understand those words, he’s gone.

#### Simon

I run.

I run out of the room. I don’t bother to close the door. I run down the stairs, out of the dorm, and into the late afternoon air. I keep running.

I don’t think he is following me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

None of that went as I wanted it to. I didn’t mean to get angry and yell at him. I didn’t mean to push him. I just wanted to show him how I felt, but then he flinched, and it… I don’t know. I guess it reminded me that all I’ve ever done is fight with him. I don’t want to fight anymore.

I just want things to be better. I want us to be able to talk, and not just when it’s the middle of the night and I’ve had a nightmare. I want to have silly conversations over dinner, and sleepy, barely coherent ones when I wake him up too early. I want to be able to make him smile when he’s having a bad day, or celebrate with him when he’s having a good one. _I want Baz._

I run until my side hurts and I’m gasping for air. And then I keep running.

#### Baz

He’s gone a few minutes before I finally decide to follow him. I know exactly where he’ll be, but I’m not sure he wants me to find him.

I can’t even begin to process what he said. It can’t be true, can it? He can’t love me—I’m the one who loves him, not the other way around. To think it could be mutual is beyond anything my mind can comprehend. It’s been three years of fantasizing and dreaming, hoping that somehow he would see me as something other than an enemy. And now that I know he feels the same… 

I need to find him. He left in such a panic that I didn’t even have a chance to tell him, well, to tell him _anything_. And there is so much to tell—How would I even begin to explain?

#### Simon 

I swing open the hatch at the top of the ladder and climb out onto the roof of the science building. The evening air is pleasant, with just a hint of chill now that the sun is starting to set. Crickets chirp from the trees.

This is my happy place. It’s where I’ve always gone when I need to get away from everything or school gets too stressful—not that I can go during school hours, but it’s easy enough to get up here once everyone’s gone to bed.

Ebb is the only one who knows I go up here, as far as I know. It was freshman year, when she first started fostering me, and the stress of a new school on top of everything else pushed me into a bit of a state. She found me curled up near one of the air vents and held me, talked to me, until I was able to calm down. Ever since then, this place has been special to me.

I hear the scrape of the hatch opening and I know it’s Baz. I don’t turn around. Instead, I stand near the edge of the roof and watch the slow descent of the sun towards the horizon. It casts an orange glow on the stone walls of the campus buildings.

I hear the crunch of his footsteps as he slowly walks up behind me. It’s like he’s stalking his prey, trying not to scare me off again. I guess it’s fair for him to be wary. Now that I’ve calmed down, I’m a bit ashamed of how I lashed out at him.

He walks up beside me and joins me in watching the sunset. Neither of us says anything, we just take in the view. I can’t help but turn to look at him. The light makes his skin a beautiful golden brown and his eyes… his eyes look like they’re on fire.

#### Baz

The sunset is beautiful.

I don’t believe I appreciate the beauty of sunsets nearly enough. They conduct the perfect symphony of colors, from light oranges to deep purples, all blended perfectly in one wash of light. But they don’t come close to comparing to Simon Snow.

Like this, in the warm glow of the fading day, he looks like he should be a hero from Greek mythology, with his golden curls and tawny skin. How did I get so lucky to have a chance with this beautiful boy?

I knew he would be up here. He thinks he’s sneaky, but he’s not the only one who followed their roommate around sophomore year. I’ve been following him up here every couple weeks for over a year and I don’t think he’s ever noticed me.

He’s smiling at me, now, and I think I might melt. We need to talk, but all I can think about is the flush of his cheeks and how gorgeous he looks. God, I want to kiss him. Would he want that? I take a step towards him.

#### Simon

I really want to kiss him. I think I’ve wanted to for a long time now, but I wouldn’t let the thought get very far. I don’t even know how he feels about me—I kind of ran away before the conversation could get that far.

He’s moving towards me and I feel my heart rate pick up. And then suddenly he’s right in my space, and he’s looking down at me, and I’m staring at his lips… 

And then I’m kissing Baz.

It’s just a gentle peck at first, a question, but the question is quickly answered. His lips are so much softer than I ever could have imagined and I feel like I’m going to explode, but in a good way this time. He reaches up to cup my chin with his hand and I lean into his touch. I thread my fingers through his hair and it’s everything I could have hoped for and more. I place my other hand on the small of his back and pull him closer. I need him to be closer. He smiles against my lips and my heart can’t handle how much happiness his smile brings me. 

When we both need air, I pull back and rest my forehead against his.

“This okay?” I ask, looking deep into the reflection of the sunset in his eyes.

“More than okay,” he smiles, and he kisses me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! Stay safe, wash your hands, and see you soon :)


	9. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea, goats, and warm hugs

#### Ebb

The kettle whistles and I scramble for a mitt to take it off the heat. The kitchen is rather a mess at the moment—kidding season for the goats left me with little time for cleaning—but I eventually find a mitt hiding under a stack of last year’s mitosis quizzes. I pour the boiling water into my mug, add in the tea, and breath in the scented steam.

I’ve been more than a little overwhelmed as of late. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I feel my emotions quite strongly, but I think in this case my reactions are justified. Spring is always a hectic time for teachers, especially for me since I have four new baby goats to care for, but this pandemic has truly upended our lives. Normal lessons, projects, labs… all impossible now. All I can do is teach into a screen and hope that my students are on the other end.

The students are why I got into teaching in the first place. Animals and science were my first love, true, but seeing that passion for learning in the next generation is something that makes me most happy. And the smiles on their faces when I announce a mini field trip to see the goats, or those days when I’m able to fit in a more interesting lab and they can choose their own groups and they get so excited about their successes… 

I realize I’m tearing up again and I dab at my eyes with a tissue. I hope my students are doing okay. For so many of them, this school was their safe place, and then they had to leave it behind. I can still check up on them through assignments and email and the like, but I still worry.

When I first started teaching, I treated my students as if they were my own, but I never even considered actually having kids (the human kind—I already have plenty of goat kids). I had the goats and my work and that was enough. And then I met Simon.

He seemed so small when I first met him, in the beginning of his freshman year. But it was more than just a lack of physical maturity that made him small. For one, he was impossibly thin. It’s strange to think of it now, as he’s got a few years of scone eating under his belt, but back then he looked like he was ready to blow away in the wind. He worked to make himself smaller, too, always slouching his shoulders and keeping his head low. I knew I had to help him the moment I met him.

A few weeks into the first semester, it became clear from his behavior that something was going on in his life, so I brought it up with administration and they looked into it. As it turned out, Simon’s father (the wretched man) had up and left without a word. He had paid for all four years of tuition, dropped Simon off at school, and completely disappeared. The police were alerted and they looked into it, but Davy must have done a good job of it because they still haven’t found any sign of him. I only hope he doesn’t ever try and show back up in my Simon’s life.

After we all found out what happened, many of us teachers wanted to do whatever we could to help Simon out. I’d grown especially fond of the boy in those weeks, and when we realized he no longer had anywhere he could go, someone brought up the suggestion of fostering. I discussed it with Simon, of course, and he was overjoyed. I cried at length about the whole ordeal and I think he cried a little, too.

The first year had its ups and downs. He was my student and I was his teacher, but at the same time I wanted to be there for him when he needed it. He hadn’t had someone who cared about him in so long that I think he forgot what it was like to be loved. It still breaks my heart to think about it. He lost his mother so young, and I don’t believe he ever truly had a father to begin with—at least not in the way he deserved.

He slowly opened up to me over the years. It started with sharing basic things, like telling me about his friends or how his classes were going. Sometimes it would come in the form of a funny story about Penny, or sometimes it would be a biology meme he saw that he thought I would appreciate. Sometimes he just needed someone to sit with and be there for him, and I was happy to listen.

Eventually, he told me about his mom. He told me about her baking, and the walks they went on near their house. He told me about the frogs they would catch in the creek. He told me about the road, and the car that he didn’t see until it was too late. He told me how his father blamed him, blamed him for the death of his mother simply because he was _there_.

I hugged him a lot that day. He wasn’t an easily affectionate person when I first met him, which makes sense considering what he’d been through. He seemed to like the idea of hugs, but I don’t think he knew how to initiate one. If I’ve taught him anything in our time together, it’s how to hug and how to cry. And maybe mitosis, too.

All this thinking about Simon has gotten me a little weepy, and I reach for another tissue. I haven’t talked to him much since quarantine began. It’s mostly my fault—I’ve been tremendously busy trying to make distance learning interesting for my students—but I miss him terribly. Maybe I should call him up today. It is a Saturday, so he probably doesn’t have plans. Well, I know for a fact he doesn’t have plans because there’s simply nothing he could be doing. It is quarantine after all.

It’s a tad silly I haven’t seen him more. My house is on campus, so I’m just a short walk away from his dorms. He’s probably just been preoccupied. He can get stuck in his head and forget about the rest of the world, me included.

I send him a quick text with promises of baked goods and tea in return for company and maybe some labor. There’s some work to do with the goats in the yard that I could use some help with. I could probably manage the job on my own, but he always seems to enjoy it and he makes the time go by faster. I send a second text to say that he should bring his roommate with him—more hands on the job always helps.

I’m curious to see how he and his roommate have been handling the quarantine. I was more than a little shocked when Simon told me Baz was going to be staying in the dorms rather than going home to his family. I was also shocked that the school even let Baz stay, as they were pretty adamant that everyone with somewhere to go had to leave, but I guess Baz’ family must have pulled strings somehow. I just hope Simon and Baz are getting along.

I’ve always noticed a strange dynamic with the two of them. Right from the start of their freshman year they were at each other’s necks, but there never seemed to be any reason to it. They seemed like they decided one day that they were going to fight and from then on it was part of their routine. And that Baz boy… I always see him watching Simon when he thinks no one will see him. I can never tell what he’s thinking.

In the few times I’ve talked to Simon during the shelter in place, he’s been very vague about what he and Baz have been doing. He’ll tell me about his classes and the other things in his life—he always makes sure to tell me about Pritchard’s cooking—but he never talks about the boy he spends most of his time with. It makes me wonder what could possibly be going on. I guess I will soon find out when they come help with the goats. In the meantime, I have some baking to do if I want to fulfill my promises.

* * *

I hear a knock on the door right as the timer dings for the oven.

“One second, love,” I call, opening the oven to find two dozen beautifully baked blueberry muffins. I tap the tops of them just to make sure they’re fully done before I take them out to cool.

When I open the door, Simon and Baz are waiting on the other side. Together. And both smiling. Well, Baz is barely moving his face, but he’s showing _emotion_ , and that’s a rare sighting for him. 

I welcome them in and they sit on the couch. Together. This is an interesting development indeed. Before two months ago they couldn’t be in the same room together without ripping each other apart, and now they’re happily coexisting in my living room, chatting about their history assignment. Whatever this is, I’m happy for them—it’s nice to see them getting along.

“So what’re we working on today?” Simon asks.

“Well, just the regular goat stuff to start, and then the fence could use some work, which I’m sure you boys could help me with.” Simon nods enthusiastically and they follow me out into the yard.

The goats immediately call out to me, emerging from whatever tree or shrub they were causing trouble under. The little ones—Bean, Lucky, Oregano, and Misty—all scamper over together in a bumbling pile of tiny goat limbs. The two mother goats follow, more subdued than their energetic offspring.

“Hello, my lovelies,” I coo, petting each of them in turn. Coco, the older doe, pushes past the others and tries to take a bite of my hair, which I choose to interpret as affection. “And hello to you too, dear.” She nuzzles into my hand. 

Simon joins me in greeting the goats, but I sense that Baz may be a little hesitant. I remember this from when he was in my biology class his freshman year. He spent most of the lesson sulking in the corner, seemingly conflicted on whether he should be angrier at Simon or the goat who was trying to eat his shoelaces.

“C’mere, love,” I beckon him over, “they’ll only bite a little.” He gives me a skeptical look, but inches towards the smallest of the kids, Bean. Bean looks up at Baz and watches him with that mischievous air typical of two-month-old goats. Baz looks ready to bolt. I try to conceal my smile at the image of the over six foot tall teenaged boy vanquished by a tiny brown goat.

After Simon and I greet all the goats and Baz works out some sort of truce with Bean, we go through the regular chores of feeding and cleaning the yard. Simon and Baz work on cleaning out the old hay, while I put in new and refill all the waters.

They seem to be working together quite well. Simon shows Baz how to move the goats around without upsetting them, and Baz eventually gets over the fact that he has to actually interact with them. It’s quite sweet, really, to see the two of them getting along after watching them fight for so long. Simon seems happy now, and that makes me happy.

After we finish with the food and cleaning, it’s time to repair the fence. It’s been in a mild state of disrepair for over a year, but we had a rough winter that really did it in. That, and one of the goats—probably Coco—has been slowly chewing her way through the posts, further threatening the structural integrity.

The boys follow me over to the shed and we get out the tools and lumber we’ll need. We won’t have to replace the whole fence—most of the wiring between the posts is in good shape—but the posts need to go.

Normally a job like this would take me a full day to do by myself, but with the two of them, we should be easily able to finish in time for tea and muffins. I leave them to start working on one end of the yard, and I carry my posts over to the other side. Hazel, my younger doe, follows me over and tries to start snacking on the wood.

“At least wait until they’re in the ground!” I laugh, nudging her away from the wood. She blinks lazily at me before moving on to trying to eat my shovel instead. I love my silly little goats.

Thanks to the recent rain we’ve had, the posts go easily into the soft ground without too much elbow grease. Even with Hazel’s attempted snacking, I am able to get the posts in the ground and the wire reattached in good time. I hazard a glance to the other side of the yard to check on the boys’ progress.

And, well, I think I was right about one thing—they are definitely getting along better than they used to. I believe I just saw Baz kiss Simon on the cheek. And Simon kiss him back. 

I feel a little ball of warmth and happiness grow in my chest, and I can’t help but hug Hazel.

“Do you see that?” I whisper to her, “I think my Simon might have found someone!” She bleats gently in response, and I think she agrees.

My little Simon, who didn’t have anyone for so long, now has so many people who care about him. He is so good to everyone that sometimes it makes me cry just thinking about it. Seeing this—seeing that he’s happy—I think I might start crying right here. He deserves the world. He deserves to be happy.

With a couple tears in my eyes and a goat by my side, I finish the rest of the posts on this side of the yard. I would continue on and finish the rest of the ones on their side too, but I figure they might want to keep working for a little longer. Together.

Despite Hazel’s pleas for me to stay out with her, I figure I can go inside and finish writing the quiz for next week. I only got through the basic vocab section before I texted Simon, and I need to be ready for the upcoming week of distance learning.

Fortunately, the quiz writing goes smoothly and I send the draft off to the other bio teachers for review. I really do miss my coworkers. We were quite a team, the freshman bio department, and we had a lot of fun together. Hopefully I will be able to see them all again in the fall, or whenever it’s safe.

Simon and Baz return from outside and go into the kitchen to wash up. I follow them in, packing up my computer and lesson plans on the way.

“So,” Simon prompts, “you mentioned baked goods as payment?” Baz rolls his eyes. I’m glad that boy knows exactly what kind of relationship he’s getting into—one that will have to involve a lot of food.

We chat for a while with our muffins and tea—mostly about school. Just as I would have expected from his exemplary performance in my freshman class, Baz sounds like he’s taking quite the rigorous course load. How students like him find the time to do all that on top of sports and other extracurriculars is beyond me.

Eventually, the tea runs out and the sun starts to get low, so the two of them get ready to leave. As Baz leads them out, though, I pull Simon aside. He gives me a confused look.

“I just wanted to say that I’m very happy for you, Simon.” I say slowly. “Baz is a very nice boy.”

He goes red as a tomato and he can’t seem to hold in the grin that breaks across his face. He starts to stammer out a response but nothing makes it out.

“Oh c’mere, you.” I pull him into a hug and he laughs and hugs me back. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Ebb.” He breaths, and I get the sense that the thanks extends to a lot more than just today.

I let him go and watch as he and Baz walk back towards campus. To think of the journey we went on to get to this point. Finding out about Davy, the late night phone calls to who knows how many agencies, the sheer quantity of paperwork…

I never thought about having kids. I had the goats and my work and that was enough. But now I have Simon and Simon has Baz, and it’s more than I ever could have asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! I hope all of you are staying healthy and doing the best that you are able to during these trying times. See you soon!


	10. Talk to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings, creepy goats, and hay-covered kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof sorry about the wait! Exams really kicked my ass, but they're over now so yay :) 
> 
> This chapter rewinds back to before the boys go to Ebb's, and it tells things from Baz' perspective.

####  Baz 

I swear I’m dreaming. I mean, I obviously don’t want it to be a dream, and I desperately hope this isn’t all a very complicated fabrication of my mind, but the fact that I got to kiss Simon Snow seems too good to be true.

And that kiss on the rooftop… I didn’t have a plan when I followed him up there. In a very Snow-like fashion, I didn’t think, I just did. I would say it worked out well for me.

We’ve been in a weird place since then, though. After the kiss (or two, or three) Snow’s stomach interrupted and we went back to the dorm to have dinner. Once dinner was done, neither of us quite knew how to pick back up where we left off, so we just went to sleep. And now it’s the next morning and I’m here, lying in my bed, fantasizing about kissing him again, and he’s off taking a shower. Nope, I definitely should _not_ think about him in the shower. _Mind out of the gutter, Basil_.

I flop dramatically into what Mordelia calls my ‘depressed princess pose’ and look at the clock. It’s only 10am. On a Saturday. And I have no school work to do. What am I supposed to do all day? Maybe I can just sleep away my problems.

I didn’t quite tell Snow about my feelings last night. I think the message was there—I did kiss him, after all—but I never explicitly used my words to tell him. I need to tell him. If I want to keep kissing him (which I do), we need to talk about this. It’s just, I spent so many years hiding my feelings, I don’t think I know how to _stop_ hiding them.

Snow emerges from the bathroom and I can’t help but watch him move through the room. The shower left his hair in lovely little curls that I desperately want to touch. Maybe he would let me, now that we have this… well, I have no idea what exactly it is that we have. That is precisely what I need to discuss with him.

“Snow,” I yawn, “we need to talk.” He at first looks alarmed, freezing in place, but then gives me a small, amused smile.

“And are you going to get out of bed for this?” He asks, sitting across from me on his own bed.

“Nope.” I pop the p and he snorts. We are both quiet for a moment while I gather my thoughts. “So,” I start, “we kissed.” He nods slowly. “Multiple times.” He nods again. “And you said you loved me.” He sighs, but nods. I roll over in my covers so that I’m better facing him.

He’s not running now. Unlike yesterday, with his rushed confession and then running out of the room, he’s calm now and he’s actually listening to me. That’s what I love about him—he can get worked up about things, but he always comes back down in the end. All of that raw, burning energy settles down and what’s left is a focused attention, ready to listen. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes, in the past, he would just stay mad and that would be that. But things are different now—I want things to be different now—and that means we need to communicate.

“Snow, I…” I don’t know how to do this. This is going to be a lot harder than I imagined. Communication sounds great in theory, but the words just aren’t coming out. Is this how Snow feels all the time?

“You… ?” He prompts, what might be worry flickering across his face. Oh God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to tell him I’m not interested. I promise you, _I’m interested_. I drag my hand through my hair and look to the ceiling for answers. The ceiling has no answers.

“Fuck, Snow, I really like you!” I breathe. I don’t wait for him to say anything yet, I just keep talking. “I care about you, and I’ve wanted this for a long time, but I never thought that you could feel the same.”

“But I do,” he interjects.

“Yes, I realize that now,” I sigh. “I realize a lot of things now.” I look over at him and he smiles at me. It’s a warm smile, one that pushes his cheeks up and squishes the corners of his eyes. This is it. This is what I’ve been dreaming of for three years, wishing he would look at me like that. I don’t have to dream any longer.

Unravelling myself from the covers, I push off the bed and take careful steps towards him. I take his hands in my own and pull him up so that he’s standing, too. Our eyes meet and I lose myself in the depths of blue.

“I- I want to be your boyfriend,” I say. “If you’ll have me.” He sucks in a breath and pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

“I’d like that,” he whispers, and I can’t help but smile. He’s practically beaming now and I think I fall just a bit more for him.

His smiles are magical. They’re like that feeling on a cloudy day when a sliver of sunshine finally breaks through and you can feel the warmth on your skin, and suddenly it’s a sunny day. Simon Snow makes every day a sunny day. Look at me, he’s turned me into such a sap.

Our hands are still clasped and he pulls me closer with a tug. I huff a laugh as I stumble gracelessly into him, nearly knocking us both over. We’re so close now that my small height advantage over him is especially clear and he has to look up at me a little bit which, I will admit, does some things to me. Also, he’s biting his bottom lip again, so my eyes can’t help but drift downwards. I think he has the same idea, because he starts to lean in at the same time. My eyes flutter closed and our lips brush gently.

And then his phone goes off.

He bursts out laughing and his head falls gently forward onto my chest and the softness of it _almost_ makes up for the fact I didn’t get to kiss him. Almost.

“It’s Ebb,” he says once he finally stops laughing and actually looks at his phone. “She wants our help with the goats.”

Oh no, _not the goats_. I can’t deal with the goats. Not only are they literal demon-creatures who have proven themselves to be on the hunt for my flesh, but Snow is revoltingly adorable in every interaction with them and I doubt my heart can deal with so much excitement in one day. I might pass out.

I must have forgotten to give any sign that I had heard him, because he lifts his head from my chest and gives me a funny look. Maybe my disdain for goats was showing on my face. 

“What do you have against the goats?”

“They’re just not my cup of tea.” He breaks into an almost devious grin when I say this, though the deviousness is balanced out by mild giggling.

“Is the great Basilton afraid of little goats?” He mocks, gesturing dramatically with his hands. He looks like an idiot. I’m in love with an idiot.

“No,” I attempt to say sternly, but it does nothing to dissuade him.

“Never fear!” He continues. “The brave Simon Snow will keep you safe against the horned beasts! But first”—his stomach interrupts with a grumble—”let’s get some food.”

With that, he grabs my hand and valiantly leads me towards the dining hall. 

* * *

When we arrive at Ms. Petty’s later that day, she welcomes us in with the pleasant smile I’ve grown to associate with her. I had her for biology freshman year and I’ve always appreciated her, even if she does have an affinity for goats (I try not to hold it against her).

She sits us down on her couch and heads into the kitchen to check on something. Based on the lovely scent wafting into the room, whatever it is is delicious. Snow is probably already hungry again, even though we just ate. The nightmare.

We sit together on the couch and chat about school—the history assignment due on Monday—and it’s so… easy. It’s like we finally learned how to talk to each other in the last two months, and now it comes so naturally. And now we’re _boyfriends_. I really must be dreaming.

“So what’re we working on today?” Simon asks when Ms. Petty returns.

“Well, just the regular goat stuff to start, and then the fence could use some work, which I’m sure you boys could help me with.” Simon nods as if he understands what ‘the regular goat stuff’ is, and the two of us follow her out back to the goat yard.

This is the moment I’ve been dreading. It’s time to deal with the goats. After all of Snow’s theatrics earlier, I’m even more hesitant to interact with the creatures for fear of inciting another knight in shining armor moment. Not that I’m against the idea of him bravely saving the day and carrying me off into the sunset, but I’d rather it be over something slightly more terrifying than a farm animal.

When I get out to the yard, Snow and Ms. Petty are already on their knees, surrounded by a hoard of tiny goats. Oh no, even worse—there’s baby goats. Pocket sized, adorable weapons of destruction.

“C’mere love, they’ll only bite a little.” Ms. Petty waves me over encouragingly.

 _A little_ , she says, as if they won’t try to eat my hair and chew holes in my clothes. But both her and Snow are looking at me like I might be insane, so I shuffle closer to the smallest one and give it a hesitant pat on the back. It stares at me with creepy horizontal pupils that can probably read my mind and I can tell that this goat is listing the ways it could ruin my life. Maybe if I pet it I can be spared.

“That one’s called Bean,” Snow offers, with a hint of humor in his voice. I give him a sharp look to tell him off for his mockery, but continue to stroke the wiry hair on Bean’s back. Snow can mock me all he wants, but one positive interaction with a single goat isn’t going to sway me so easily. Although, I will say Bean is quite cute.

With all of the goats sufficiently greeted, Ms. Petty wades through the leaping hairy bodies to get to the feeder. She and Snow tag team an explanation of how we have to clean out all of the old hay in the surrounding area and then put in the new. I do my best to follow along with some semblance of eagerness. I can accept Bean, but I’m still not thrilled about the rest of the goats.

Snow and I work on cleaning the feeder while Ms. Petty goes to refill their water basin and then get the new hay. Snow is very patient with me, and gently guides the goats away when they get too close. He explains that you don’t want to push them too roughly because they’ll think that you are trying to play and they might get aggressive. That knowledge does absolutely nothing to increase my comfort around them, but I appreciate his efforts.

The cleaning goes quickly with the two of us, and we soon fill up a wheelbarrow with the old hay, ready to be disposed of. One of the goats—a bigger one so I’m assuming one of the mothers—has taken it upon herself to try and help us out by eating the old hay out of the wheelbarrow.

“No, Coco,” Snow reprimands, “we’ve got it handled without your help. Wait for the new stuff to come in.” Coco looks at Snow with her creepy goat eyes, and then moves on from the hay to chew on the wooden handles. “Not that either!” Snow gives her an exasperated look and pushes her aside to wheel the wheelbarrow out of the yard to the compost.

You know, I think I might see the appeal of goats if they can help me annoy Snow. He is impossibly adorable when he’s flustered.

When Ebb finishes with the water, she takes us over to the shed and we start unloading what we’ll need to fix the fence. I guess I can add fence fixing to the list of new things I’ve done during quarantine. I say ‘list’ as if I’ve actually done anything during quarantine besides pine over Snow and write passive aggressive english essays. I haven’t had the most productive few months.

Ebb leaves Snow and I with our pile of fence posts and heads off to the other side of the yard, two goats in tow. Only one goat stays with Snow and I, the rest having dispersed around the yard. I prefer it this way. If they’re hiding under bushes, I can’t see them, so I don’t have to think about them.

The goat watches us like a tiny supervisor as we work on getting the first post in the ground. Its coat is predominantly white, covered in black spots and with markings on all four legs that look like little socks. It also has dark brown eyes, which I like—harder to see the creepy pupils. 

Under that watchful care, we quickly get through the first few posts. One upside I have found to this manual labor is a hot, sweaty Snow. Mildly disgusting and covered in hay, yes, but let’s just say watching him lift up the thick wooden fence posts with such ease has my mind going to some very interesting places. Forearms should be illegal. I probably shouldn’t be having such thoughts when his foster mother and my former teacher is literally across the yard, concealed by a few bushes, but sue me he’s my boyfriend now and he’s fucking gorgeous.

Eventually, the goat gets bored of merely watching and decides it’s time to take a more hands on approach. It leaps up the unsteady pile of lumber and lets out a tiny bleat. Snow looks up from his work.

“He wants attention Baz. It would be rude to deny him.”

Insufferable. Both Snow and the goats—insufferable. Either way, I don’t want Ms. Petty to worry about the screaming goat, so I put down my tools and crouch next to it. It stops crying immediately and leans into my hand. Snow is staring at the two of us with that face of his that means he finds something extremely funny but doesn’t want to say anything.

“What?” I ask, because I know he’ll probably tell me anyways.

“The goat's name is Oregano.” He starts giggling in the middle of talking and covers his mouth with his fist.

“And?”

“Your name is Basil! You’re both herbs!” He’s fully doubled over in laughter, gasping for breath. He stops laughing for a couple seconds, looks at me and the goat, and then loses it again.

I’m in love with an idiot. I may hate the jokes—he’s hardly original—but seeing him smile and hearing his laugh will never fail to make my day. 

While he’s still regaining his oxygen levels, I walk over to him and plant a kiss on his cheek. He blushes a vivid pink.

“What was that for?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Well, if you’re going to call me an idiot, at least do it properly.” He wraps his hand under my chin and pulls me in for a real kiss. He tastes vaguely of hay, and I know I’m sweaty from digging in the dirt, but kissing him will always be amazing. It ends as soon as it begins, however, because he starts laughing again.

“What?” I’m almost scared of what he’s thought of this time.

“We could make a pasta dish out of you two!” He’s lost it. Completely mad.

“Um, _what?_ ”

“Oregano and Basil! We just need another goat named Pasta or Garlic or something and then we’d have it!” I think there are actual tears forming in his eyes from laughing so hard.

“Snow…” I can’t even form a complete thought in response to this, it’s so idiotic. I look to Oregano for help, but the goat has left me for some grass. Never trust a goat to back you up in times of need, I guess, they’ll pass you up for a particularly green bit of grass. 

I think anything I say or do will only spark another bout of mockery, so I instead pointedly pick up my tools and continue working on the posts. Snow eventually follows suit once he gets a hold of himself, and we work through the rest of the posts with minimal mentions of my herb-related name.

When we finally finish the last post, Ms. Petty has long since gone inside, and our only company is Oregano. Snow stops to thank the goat as we clean up our tools.

“You’re a very good herb, Oregano. Thank you for supervising.” I send him a glare, but he only smiles gleefully at me and bounces towards the house. Nightmare. Absolute adorable nightmare.

We head to the kitchen to wash the layer of dirt and grime off our skin. Ms. Petty follows us in after a little while.

“So,” Snow says, glancing eagerly around the kitchen, “you mentioned baked goods as payment?” I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. I swear our entire relationship is going to revolve around quelling his insatiable appetite.

With much less eye rolling than I would have utilized if it were me, Ms. Petty retrieves the muffins and makes us some tea. We take the snacks into the living room and chat, me and Snow on the couch and her in an armchair. She has a very comforting air about her that’s… well, I guess you would call it motherly. I don’t know her very well, but I can feel that she’s the type of person who would do just about anything for anyone. Snow is lucky to have someone like that.

She asks us about classes, how this year is going and what we’re taking next year. Like many of my teachers, she voices her concern for the fullness of my schedule, but I explain that I’ve managed it the last three years, so next year should be no different.

Many discussions of schedules and classes later, we have all finished our tea and it is time for Snow and I to head back to the dorms. We help her clean up, and then I take the lead out the door. When I get a few steps out front of the house, though, I turn back to see them talking. Whatever they’re discussing, Ms. Petty’s face is alight with a fond smile, while Snow is blushing profusely. They hug and then Snow walks towards me. I call out to Ms. Petty before she heads inside.

“Bye, Ms. Petty. Thank you for the muffins and tea.” She gives me the same fond look she was just giving Snow.

“You can call me Ebb, love, and you are very welcome.” She waves us off with a smile. I don’t know how to respond, so I just smile back.

After we get a ways towards school, Snow takes my hand and interlocks our fingers.

“She knows, and she says she’s happy for us.” He swings our connected hands gently between us. 

“I’m happy for us, too,” I mutter, squeezing his hand.

“Me too.” He grins and squeezes back.

We walk hand in hand the rest of the way to school, and I think I can soundly say I’ve never felt happier than I am right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think! I hope you're all staying safe and healthy and see you soon :)


	11. Grow as We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pancakes, pillows, and phone calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes it's been almost a month since the last chapter... here you go.

#### Simon

I wake up to a heavy weight on my chest and a head of dark, silky hair in my face. One hand is draped over my shoulder and the other is tucked between his head and the pillow, like a sleeping princess. I can feel the soft puffs of his breath on my neck.

This has become part of our routine now. He falls asleep by my side, and when I wake up he’s still there, still holding me. Sometimes we’re in my bed, sometimes his, but always together. It’s nice. I don’t know how I ever slept well with him all the way on the other side of the room.

I guess I never did sleep well before. I would wake up sweating and screaming, and then we would both pretend nothing happened. At least, until that one night when he stopped pretending, and he told me everything would be okay. I haven’t had any nightmares since we have started doing this, and neither has he as far as I can tell. Maybe there’s hope for us yet to have some peace.

He stirs, and I can’t help but smile at him. He doesn’t look so posh when he’s just woken up, and his hair more closely resembles a deranged forest witch than the usual dracula. Although, maybe he is a forest witch because I think I’m under his spell…

“Good morning,” he rasps, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I hum in response and lazily stroke the back of his head.

If you would have told me a few months ago that I would fall asleep cuddling my roommate—and former sworn enemy—I probably would have asked how much you had to drink. If only I knew how he felt earlier, all of that pain might have been avoided. I mean, If only I knew how _I_ felt earlier, I would have suffered far less confusion.

He stretches his arms out to the side. “What’re you thinking about?” he yawns. “I’m not sure the world is ready for a thoughtful Snow this early in the morning.”

I give him a friendly shove and roll us over to reverse our positions. Now I’m the one on squishing him. “Firstly, it’s like nine something so it’s not that early in the morning. Secondly, ‘was thinking about us.” He quirks an eyebrow. “You know, how we used to hate each other and stuff.”

“But I never hated you,” he mutters.

“I guess I didn’t really hate you, either, but why did you act like you did?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, his forest-witch hair splayed out on the pillow. “I don’t know, Snow,” he sighs. “I guess it was a form of protecting myself.”

“From what?”

“How I feel.”

“And how do you feel?” I ask, resting my elbows on either side of his chest so that my chin rests in my just inches from his face.

He shakes his head with a smirk. “I _feel_ like maybe it’s time to go eat breakfast.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“What if I promised pancakes, then would I be fun?”

Dirty tricks, I tell you. This man doesn’t play far. “Fine,” I grumble, and we begin the grand process that is Baz’ morning routine.

* * *

By the time we are out of the dorm and heading down to the kitchen, over an hour has passed. Granted, we may have, erm, _drifted off task_ at some points, but for the most part our delayed mornings can be entirely blamed on Baz’ absurd obsession with his hair. I would usually just leave without him and start my breakfast on my own, but today he promised pancakes and I’m holding him to it.

When we get to the kitchen, Cook Pritchard seems to have already finished her breakfast and started her day, though she left a few scones out on the counter for us. I snatch one off the pile and set out to find some butter.

Baz watches me with obvious amusement. “So if there are scones does that mean you won’t be needing pancakes?”

I do my best scandalized gasp. “No pancakes? How dare you make such a threat!” He rolls his eyes in his typical Baz fashion, but goes to the cupboard to find a mixing bowl and all of the ingredients he needs. 

The sight of the bowl and whisk surrounded by a back of flour and measuring cups gives me a sudden wave of nostalgia. I have a very vague memory of my mom making pancakes for me when I was small. I can picture her in the sunlit kitchen, bent over a mixing bowl, whisking away. We’d sit together in the breakfast nook, still in our pajamas and she would tell me not to put too much syrup on. I wouldn’t listen, obviously, and she’d laugh as I drowned my breakfast in sticky sweetness. 

At least, that’s how I think it happened. It’s hard to tell now what are memories and what are just dreams that have started to feel like memories. All I know for sure is that there weren’t many pancakes to be had after… well… 

“Hey, you okay?” Baz has stopped his mixing and is watching me with concern.

“Yeah. Just- No one has made me pancakes since my mom.”

His expression softens. “I’ll make you pancakes whenever you want, Snow.”

“Is that a promise? Because I will take full advantage.”

He laughs softly. “I promise.”

* * *

We sit down with our pancakes at one of the long tables of the dining hall. It’s not the table I would usually sit at with Penny, or the table Baz and his crew occupied, but it’s our middle ground. And it’s not as suspiciously sticky as the rest of the tables.

I dig into the stack of pancakes on my plate. They’re perfectly fluffy and buttery, and I cover them in a healthy coating of syrup, as is the proper way. Baz looks on with a mix of disgust and fear for my health.

“What?” I mumble through a mouthful of deliciousness.

He’s about to say something—probably some snarky commentary on my eating habits—when his phone goes off in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the screen before quickly stuffing it away again. I give him a questioning look but he doesn’t offer who it was. Instead, he picks at the pancakes on his plate (with an astounding lack of syrup and butter, I might add).

A few minutes later, his phone goes off again but he once again ignores it. “What are your finals like next week?” he asks instead.

I shove another bite of pancake in my mouth. “I’ve some written stuff for history and english—” I take another bite of pancake “—and then the physics final, and then math.”

He nods absently and takes a dainty bite of pancake. It makes me happy to see him eating freely in front of people, even if the people are only me or Cook Pritchard. I feel like I have officially reached the status of Acceptable Person in Baz’ life, and that’s a big accomplishment in my book. I guess I’m probably a bit more than _acceptable_ to him since he’s been sleeping with me. Not like _sleeping with me_ , sleeping with me—don’t know if I’m quite ready for that yet—but, you know, sleeping in the same bed as me.

His phone goes off again, and this time he takes it out and switches the ringer off. We finish the pancakes and I don’t mention the phone calls. We just chat, which is kind of nice in its own way. 

* * *

We’re back in the room and each working on various finals. Baz is already done with most of his projects (as expected), so all he has to do is get ready for the live exams happening next week. And in Baz’ case, I hardly think he even has to study for those. Asshole. How dare he know things so easily.

I, on the other hand, have been working my ass off to try and catch up on all of the assignments from this semester. Going into distance learning, especially since the school said it was gonna be pass/fail for our grades, I thought I wouldn’t have to put in much work. Unfortunately I was wrong about that and now I have to play catch up so I actually pass my classes.

Baz is sitting back on his bed, a book propped up on his knee and one hand tracing his jawline thoughtfully. He looks like some kind of Victorian noble or something with his long hair and focused expression. A Victorian noble that’s kinda hot.

He glances over at me. “Take a picture, it'll last longer.” He smirks and I know I’ve been caught staring again.

“Not my fault,” I mumble, meeting his gaze.

He quirks an eyebrow and I can see the shadow of a genuine smile tug at his lips. “Hmm? What’s not your fault, Snow?”

I try and fight back the heat that rises to my cheeks. “That you’re hot,” I mutter, so quietly I know he won’t hear it.

“That I’m what?” He sets his book to the side and casually stretches his arms above his head so that the hem of his shirt rises to reveal a sliver of midriff. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

I throw a pillow at him. “You’re fucking hot, okay.” He catches the pillow and adds it to the one already behind him.

“Oh, yes, I’m aware,” he hums, with that quietly smug look that is so uniquely Baz. I toss my second and final pillow at him. He throws it right back.

Our eyes meet as I catch the pillow and the corners of his mouth turn up into a devious smile. I think we each get the same idea. So much for our morning studying.

He tosses another pillow at me so that it’s a fair fight. I stand up on my bed and pitch them at him. Kneeling on his bed and wielding a pillow like a baseball bat, he sends them flying back at me. He laughs a true, genuine laugh as I catch him in the stomach with a well aimed throw.

The room is a blur of flying white blobs as we volley back and forth, each increasingly losing our coordination as we dissolve into a laughing mess.

When his phone vibrates on his desk we both freeze and look at it, pillows paused in motion. The screen is just a bit too far away and oddly angled for me to see the caller ID. When the buzzing stops, a voicemail notification pops up.

“Baz…” I trail off when I see the clench of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. I suddenly know who it must be, who it must have been all morning. I know why he kept tucking it away, ignoring it, turning off the ringer without thinking about answering. It’s his father.

He doesn’t move for a while, just stands there with a pillow in one hand, staring at the phone on the other side of the room. 

He turns to me and I can see the conflict in his eyes. Too many emotions to name.

We stand there in silence for a moment before he takes in a deep breath, forcing his shoulders into a relaxed position. He places his pillow back on his bed and methodically works through the room, straightening up all the casualties of our moment of playful warfare. I can think of nothing to do but watch him.

He remakes his bed, carefully pressing out the wrinkles from where he was kneeling. He picks up the two extra pillows from the floor and puts one on each of our beds. He moves slowly, deliberately, and don’t know what is going through his mind.

Once everything in the room is back in its place, and the pillows have been straightened for the fifth time, he walks over to his desk. The phone remains silent.

He picks it up with the care of someone holding an explosive that also smells bad and leaves a sticky residue on your hand. He gestures with a tilt of his head for me to come over to him.

We both sit cross legged on his bed, the phone between us. I lay my hand on his leg and try to mentally push my reassurance towards him.

He takes a deep breath, hits the call button, and turns it on speakerphone.

His father’s voice, vaguely familiar to me from our brief interactions, comes through the phone. “Basilton?” His voice is hesitant, though still carries the usual sternness.

Baz looks to me and then back at the phone. He clears his throat. “Yes, I’m here.” It’s firm bordering on nonchalant, but I can see he’s on edge. There’s a reason he’s been avoiding this all day. I guess we’re about to find out whether the avoidance was the right move or not.

I can hear Malcolm take a deep breath. He speaks slowly, as if every word hurts on the way out. “I’ve, well, been wanting to talk to you and I…I’ll get rights to the chase.” He pauses. “I want to apologize.”

Baz leans back against the wall and presses his fingertips together under his chin.

Malcolm continues. “I have had time to think—and time to talk to Daphne—and I realize I have been… unkind to you. Well, unkind is not a strong enough word. I have been cruel.”

I can’t quite read Baz’ expression. He’s shut down his emotions, resorting to the cold, ever stoic face that had tormented me for the first two years of high school. I keep my hand on his leg and send him my strength.

“You are and will always be my son, and I want you to be happy—with whoever would make you happy. You’re a fine young man Basilton, and I should take care to remember it.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness because I know that I have hurt you in ways that are not healed so easily. All I want from you is the chance to make things right again. I want you to come home.” Baz purses his lips, his mouth forming a line. “The kids miss you, Daphne misses you, and I… we all miss you. We want you to be home with us.”

He waits for Baz to say something. When he realizes he isn’t going to get a response, he pushes on. “We could pick you up when the semester ends in a couple weeks, once you’re done with all your finals. You don’t have to decide right now but… please think about it.

“I just want you to know that I am proud of you, every part of you, and you will always be one of the most important things in my life.” He takes in a heavy breath and is silent for a moment. “I love you, Basilton.”

Baz looks away, focusing on some speck on the wall. “I love you, too,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

“Well, I’ll see you soon, son.”

There is a heavy silence, waiting for a reply, but Baz doesn’t say anything. After a long moment Malcolm ends the call.

As soon as the screen goes dark, Baz deflates. I crawl over to his end of the bed and carefully pull him into my lap. He breathes in short, ragged breaths as I wrap my arms around him, bringing him to my chest.

I stroke his hair. “Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s all okay.” I don’t know quite what is happening and I don’t have the right words, but I don’t think he really needs more words right now. He has enough of them in his mind already.

He shifts his position so that he’s sitting up, facing me. Lines of tears run down his cheeks, but he wears a small smile on his lips. All these months, thinking his father didn’t love him. I hadn’t even thought about how much that must have been weighing on him. Through all of the chaos I had nearly forgotten the reason he was quarantining here in the first place.

But now I think there’s hope for their family. There’s hope that Baz and his dad can care for each other again, or at least get along. His dad’s an asshole—there’s no denying that—but maybe now he’s an asshole who grew a heart.

I wipe a tear from Baz’ cheek with my thumb.

I want him to have his family. I want them to care about him as much as I do. I want them to be happy for him. I want him to be happy.

He drapes himself over me once more, curling himself up into a vaguely Baz-shaped blob. I run my fingers through his hair and let him have his time. Everything else can wait.

We stay like that for a long time. Or, at least until it’s time for lunch. I wonder if there are rules against having pancakes for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	12. Our Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers, picnics, and stars

####  Baz 

Today would have been our last day of the school year. 

Prom would have been a couple weeks ago. The main quad would be strung with lights, illuminating a dozen large tables and a dance floor. I would have gone with Dev and Niall to wear a suit and laugh at our classmates while getting pleasantly intoxicated on smuggled alcohol. It would have been fun. 

I guess, in light of recent events, I could have even gone with Snow. Imagine us, swaying together under the fairy lights, moving to a slow song. I think the sight of him in a suit would be the end of me. 

Many of my friends would be graduating today. A lot of the guys on the soccer team were seniors, and some of them were even tolerable. I’m not sure if I will miss them, but it’s strange to watch all of them silently slip away, no final goodbye or celebration. Everyone will go their own way, off to start the next chapter in their lives. 

I wonder how many of them I will see again. 

Dev, Niall and I had this tradition on the last night of school, before our families came to pick us up. Final exams finished, bottles in hands, we would find somewhere quiet to drink and talk. We wouldn’t ever talk about much, just our classes, how much we hated our families, which girl Dev was chasing most recently. It wasn’t much, but it was ours. 

There’s none of that now. 

Instead, I’m just filling the time before Daphne picks me up tomorrow. 

I thought about that decision for a long time, and talked to Snow about it for nearly as long. And while it would be lovely to keep living this life with Snow, doing everything together without worrying about anyone else, I have to take the opportunity to try and fix things with my father. Despite everything he has put me through in the past couple months, it will make everyone’s life easier if we can find a way to mend our relationship. 

Also, I miss the kids. And Daphne. I know my father’s actions have hurt them, too, and I want to try and make things better for them. Daphne especially has been nothing but caring to me and I have to try and fix things for her. She deserves it. 

And it’s not like I won’t see Snow at all. I talked to Daphne about it and she said he is welcome to visit any time he wants, though she was somewhat confused as to why I am suddenly friendly with the roommate I have been ranting about for years. One day I’ll have to tell her the truth, but maybe that can wait. For simplicity's sake. 

I let out a heavy sigh and flop down on my bed. Snow left on a walk a little over an hour ago. I wish I’d gone with him. 

I want to make the most of the hours we have left together. We will still see each other over summer, but it won’t be the same. It won’t be our own place. Our home. 

He’s going to move in with Ebb once I leave. I think it will be good for them to get to spend more time together. And Simon will get to play with the goats. 

Three sharp knocks on the door interrupt my musings. 

I walk over and crack the door open a sliver. My eyes are greeted by a smiling Snow, obnoxiously sticking his face through the narrow opening. 

“May I come in,” he grins. 

“You really don’t have to ask.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to. _Because_ …” He pushes through the door, holding one arm behind his back. “I brought you something!” 

His excitement could mean either that he has found a cool rock or a rabid woodland creature, and I am hesitant to see which one it is. An interesting rock would be acceptable, but I don’t think we’re ready to bring another being into our lives right now. Especially if that being were a squirrel Snow accosted on the trail. 

He grins at me and, with a flourish, he brings out… flowers—a small bouquet of them, all carefully broken off at the stem and arranged into a lovely palette of colors. 

I don’t know what to say. No one has ever given me flowers before, let alone ones that they picked and collected just for me. My mind blanks. 

“Do you like them?” He steps closer and holds the flowers up between our faces. The blue ones match his eyes. 

“I- yes. They’re beautiful,” I manage to stammer. He smiles even wider and starts picking through the bundle and holding each individual blossom up for my inspection. 

“These are poppies.” He cradles three blooms ranging from a pale cream to vibrant orange. “The tiny yellowish ones are yarrow. This is milkweed—butterflies love the stuff. Monarchs I think? Yeah, pretty sure those are the kind that like it. Then there’s a lilly, some lilac, and my favorite—larkspur.” 

He gives the final flower a thoughtful look. From the stem, a half dozen purple and blue flowers shoot off in even spacing, the delicate petals curling perfectly away from the lighter colored center. 

My brain recovers from the momentary shutdown and I clutch Snow’s hand where he holds the larkspur. I pull him closer. 

“I love them,” I murmur, and wrap my arms around his neck 

“Really?” He breathes. His gaze flicks between my eyes, the flower still in his hand, and then my lips. 

I lean in closer until our lips barely brush. I feel his mouth turn into a smile against my own. He smells like a field of wildflowers with a dash of mud. 

With a gentle movement of his chin he pulls on my lower lip. It’s slow, as if I’m something to savor. My hands find a home in his curls as his tongue traces my lips. 

After a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth he pulls away. 

“I had a thought,” he whispers, eyes fluttering open. 

In a different time, seeing his eyes like this, soft and blue, it would leave me undone. It still does. 

“You know how dangerous thoughts are.” 

He smiles and lazily brushes his mouth along my jaw. “Yes, but this thought is an especially good one, if I do say so myself.” 

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Oh, is it now?” 

He hums. “I think we should celebrate our last night together.” 

A second eyebrow joins the first. 

“Not like that,” he laughs. “Well, maybe, but that’s not what I meant.” He steps back and gives me a determined look. “I have a plan, we’re just gonna need to gather a few things.” 

* * *

Down in the kitchen, Snow and Cook Pritchard bustle about, talking about something I wasn’t really paying attention to. I’ve been too busy admiring Snow’s forearms from my perch on the countertop. He’s been kneading the bread dough and forming loaves for the last twenty minutes and my mind can only handle so much at once. 

A timer dings for one of the ovens and Cook Pritchard dons her mitts and hurries over. Snow taps my leg with the flat side of a bread knife. 

“You’re taking up precious bread-cooling counter space.” 

I huff but slide off onto the floor. If it’s for the bread, it’s for a good cause. 

Cook Pritchard carries the steaming loaf over and sets it down where I was sitting. The air around us fills with the comforting aroma. 

After the bread has cooled, we slice it up and add it to a basket along with various other snacks. Much to Snow’s disappointment, scones did not make the list. 

However, Pritchard did pack us something chocolatey smelling that I am eager to try. 

“You boys have a fun night,” she says with a knowing wink. _How_ knowing, I’m not sure, but she cheerily waves us off as we walk out the front door of the dorms. 

Snow switches the basket to his far hand so that he can interlock our fingers. His hands are strong and calloused, but still gentle as he runs his thumb across my skin. 

He eagerly leads me across campus. 

As I predicted, he has taken us to the science building. The tall stone walls loom over us, beginning to take on an warmer hue as the afternoon sun sinks lower in the sky. 

We push open the doors and walk through the lower level halls. Our footsteps sound too loud, echoing through the empty building. All of the classrooms are dark and 

locked. 

We reach the end of the hall and turn the corner to the staircase. 

“Care for a rematch? I could push _you_ down the stairs this time,” Snow laughs. 

I glare at him. 

“That was unintentional.” 

“Was it?” He looks genuinely confused. 

“Contrary to popular belief I didn’t actually want to hurt you. I was trying to steal your textbook and then you slipped in the mud.” 

“Huh.” He takes a moment to process this. “But why steal my textbook?” 

“It’s not like you read it anyways.” 

He opens his mouth to say something but stops short and draws his eyebrows together. “I have no comeback to that. I can’t remember ever using it.” 

“Exactly,” I smirk, and we start up the stairs. 

We navigate the winding halls of classrooms until we find the roof access. He goes first up the metal ladder and unlocks the hatch. Bracing with his shoulder, he swings it open to reveal a clear sky overhead. I follow him up and out onto the roof. 

I take a moment to feel the breeze on my face. We are only a couple stories up, but the wind is much stronger here than on ground level where everything is sheltered by the buildings. I relish the feeling as my hair blows freely behind me. 

The scattered clouds near the horizon, light and fluffy, begin to take on a pink and orange tint. The sky behind them glows, silhouetting a distant line of trees. 

Snow unfolds a blanket and lays it out a few feet from the edge of the roof. From here we can see all of campus, and the layers of wooded hills that surround us. 

The sunset is beautiful. 

And so is the smiling boy offering me a slice of bread. He sits cross legged with the basket open in front of him. 

In the light, he is golden. 

I join him on the blanket and take the proffered slice. It’s perfectly baked—a hard crust, but soft and chewy in the middle. I take a bite and savor the subtle flavor. 

My enjoyment is interrupted by a sudden moan from Snow. I glance up at him in surprise. 

“Oh fuck, that’s good bread,” he whines. He has his eyes closed and is cradling the bread in his hand like it is the most precious thing in the world. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” I laugh. 

“Yeah if you would. I think we need a moment.” 

He takes another bite of bread and makes a low noise in the back of his throat. Jesus Christ. Leave it to Snow to make eating bread sound suggestive. 

He cracks an eye open and beams at me. Idiot. Beautiful idiot. 

“Oh! I just remembered!” He dives into the basket, bread cast aside, and pulls out a slightly squashed handful of flowers—the ones he found on his walk. “I brought these!” 

His face full of concentration, he does his best to prop them up in an empty cup. Despite some slight wilting, the petals have maintained most of their vibrancy and they add a nice touch to our little arrangement. 

He gives me a proud look at his apparent decorating skills. 

The sun continues its downward trajectory, reminding us how quickly the time is passing. We sit, and eat, and talk—about everything and nothing—until the final tendrils of orange retreat below the horizon. 

Snow pushes the mostly empty food basket aside and crawls across the blanket to me. He curls up in my lap, guiding me further onto my back so that we can both stare up at the stars. 

There’s only a few visible, for now, some of the brighter ones. I never learned the names. 

“Think that’s Jupiter,” Snow whispers, pointing to a faint dot just above the horizon, near the moon. 

I rest a hand by his neck and trace meaningless patterns on the exposed skin. 

“And Hercules should be those stars right there and over there—” He cranes his neck to the side. I follow his gaze to a vague “w” shape. “That’s Casseiopea.” 

He searches around for more that he recognizes. 

“Did Ebb teach you these?” I mutter into the top of his head, where his hair brushes my skin. 

He is quiet for a moment, staring up at the sky. “Most of it I learned from my mom.” I freeze up, not wanting to ruin the mood. “It’s okay,” he smiles, “I like talking about her. She taught me the flowers too.” 

He tells me about their home and the hills of flowers right out their door. She would pick her favorites and put them behind her ear. 

He talks about nights just like this one, sitting on the roof with his mother, listening to her tell stories of the great bears, serpents, and warriors in the sky. He learned as many of them as he could. 

His skin seems to glow in the moonlight. His eyes dance with stars. 

He tilts his head and watches me. I watch him back. 

His hands travel up to rest on my chest as he pulls himself further on top of me, our faces inches apart. 

“So are you glad you agreed to that truce?” He asks, a shy smile tugging at his lips. 

I nearly forgot about the truce. A lot has happened since then. 

There aren’t enough words to say just how glad I am, so I kiss him. 

I kiss him because, right now, in this moment, everything is okay. 

We don’t think about everything that’s happening in the world. 

We don’t worry about the future and what it will bring. 

We don’t care that this is our last night before I leave. 

The weight of the world can wait for tomorrow, because we’re here now—together—and that’s all I want to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading. Writing this fic has truly kept me sane in the last couple months, and I hope it provided you some brief respite from the ever-declining state of the world :)


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